Eccentric Order
by itsraa
Summary: When Hermione stumbles upon Draco Malfoy's work in the Room of Requirement sixth year, she confronts Dumbledore about it. They work out a solution that may just change the future of the wizarding world.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Hello. This is my first fanfiction, so any advice and comments you have are welcome! This story features Draco/Hermione, but will be a slow-burn sort of attraction, especially on Hermione's side. I anticipate it to be at least 200k words, and have already written 90k. This story is A/U starting with the Prologue, but many ideas from canon, like the Deathly Hallows and Horcruxes, will remain. It starts in the middle of sixth year, and the only significant change in timeline is that Harry runs into Draco in the sixth floor bathroom much earlier. That is, the Sectumsempra incident still happens, but everything is shifted forward by a few months.

**Warnings: **Language, bullying, violence, implicit sexual situations.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. I write for fun. No money is being made!

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**Eccentric Order**

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**Chapter 0: Prologue**

A school day in January. Hogwarts castle, second floor girls' bathroom.

Well, it wasn't as nice as the Prefects' bathroom, but it was certainly nicer than some of the boys' bathrooms. Older, grander, and more solemn in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on; a history, dark and eerie, threatened to seep out from shadowy corners and the whisper of a dark promise hung in the still air.

Enough of that now, Draco reminded himself as he turned the sink knob, wet his hands, and ran them through his hair. He examined his pale face in the mirror, looking for obvious signs that he might have been crying.

"Leaving already?" Myrtle asked, flitting up to his side.

Draco almost laughed. As if he would stay here now that he had staved off another one of his panic attacks. He applied a glamour charm to his eyes, which were reddened from crying, and waved off the burning smell that accompanied the charm. "Class soon. Go check to see if anyone's coming."

The ghost obediently drifted towards the bathroom door. Draco pointed his wand at his sleeves, which were wrinkled from where he had rolled them up. He ran the heated tip along the worst creases.

"Oh! Come to taunt me again, have you?" Myrtle shrieked from outside the bathroom door.

Draco ducked into the farthest stall, locked the door shut and stepped onto the toilet seat to hide his feet from view.

"Oh, shut up," a girl said. She had entered the bathroom with a few others by the sound of it. "It's not her fault that Harry and Ron are mindless prats who won't pay you a visit."

"I told you we shouldn't have come into this one," said a second girl. "She's always like this—"

"Of _course_ it's her fault!" wailed Myrtle. "They used to come in here all the time but after _she_ turned into that monstrous fur ball—"

"Oh, for goodness' sake," said the first girl. "_Silencio!_"

"—except when she's talking about when I turned into half a cat, of course," the second girl finished dryly.

"You can turn into half a cat, Hermione?" a dreamy voice joined the conversation.

"Not quite," Granger, the second girl, answered. "It's… it's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you some other time?"

"Half-animal Animagus forms are possible? I thought that only full animal—Oh, look! Someone left the water running. You know, we were just talking in Muggle Studies about how water conservation is really important to Muggles…" The dreamy voice drifted off into a thoughtful silence.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" asked Granger after a moment.

"Nothing, really," the first girl replied. "Wait. _Muffliato!_"

"Don't! That spell! You shouldn't—"

Draco's curiosity was piqued by Granger's objection to the spell he had never heard of. What did it do exactly? Muffle? That couldn't be it, because he could still hear Granger talking. Perhaps it worked only on a specified target? Or in general directions? Myrtle would be upwards in the air, whereas he was more to the side. He began to listen more closely.

"Oh, come on, Hermione. Not everything that comes out of the Prince's book is bad. Besides, you don't really want Myrtle listening, do you?" rejoined the first girl. "She'd probably shriek out all our secrets next time we came near her… Anyway, it's nothing. I just had to get away from Dean for a bit."

"I thought it was going well?"

Draco groaned inwardly, tuning out the rest of the response. Granger, the Weaslette, and some dimwit taking Muggle Studies were out there gossiping, leaving him stuck here until their departure. He didn't think there were any girls in the castle he hated more than the Weaslette. Her sudden, inexplicable Quidditch brilliance had destroyed any hope Slytherin had for the Quidditch cup last year and he was still smarting from being on the receiving end of her little Bat-Bogey Hex near the end of last year. But Granger, of course, could run a close second in the race for most-hated-girl-in-the-castle. Her unkempt hair and eager, unrelenting drive to prove herself were both constant irritations to him in class.

As the girls continued speaking, Draco resolved that he would never seek out Myrtle down here again, no matter how desperate he was. He would just wait for her to find him, just as she had the first time he was crying in the bathrooms. Why did he even bother talking to the pathetic ghost anyway? It wasn't like he could actually tell her anything. But it was so nice to let his guard down…

"—but I've got to run! Left my chart of horrendous things that will happen to me this week up in my room. The bat gets worse every year, I swear. At least Firenze made sense sometimes! Next Hogsmeade weekend we really ought to—"

Draco listened to the sounds, trying to judge how close to the door the Weaslette might be. The door swung shut and her voice was no longer audible. There was a little silence. Perhaps they were all gone?

Draco put a hand on the wall, preparing to step down, when Granger spoke again. "So have you got Divination, too, Luna? I can't believe Dumbledore lets that fraud—"

Draco couldn't believe _Granger_ was talking about a teacher like that. Then again, he remembered the rumour that Granger had walked out in the middle of a Divination class, declaring that it was all rubbish. He suppressed a snicker. Of course her parents, being Muggles, wouldn't have known Trelawney's reputation as one of the worst Seers alive.

"—got Charms right now actually. I wanted to take Divination but Father said Professor Trelawney keeps her Wrackspurt collection in her classroom. They're fascinating creatures, but I was afraid that they might interfere with my other classes."

"Oh, right." An awkward pause. Draco could just imagine the doubting expression on Granger's face. "Well, Harry and Ron are probably looking for me—"

"Wait, Hermione! I wanted to ask you about this." There was a thud and then some shuffling of papers and books. Something hard hit the tiled floor, making a hollow sound as it landed. It scattered across the floor as someone tried and failed to pick it up.

"You wanted to ask me about…a mobile?"

"Oh, right. That's what it's called. Professor Burbage handed them out today and asked us to research—"

Damn it, Lovegood, just shut up, Draco thought. Waving his wand, he Disillusioned himself. As he stepped down from the seat, he looked down, and dizziness overtook him, as only shimmering air was where his feet should have been. He leaned against the cold stone wall on one side of the stall and shut his eyes, trying to block out the chatter and stop the spinning in his head. Damn it _all_. He had been so close to getting out of here.

He tuned in again as Granger was saying, "Last year, my parents bought me one—they wanted me to ring them from school instead of owling, but of course the magic interferes, like you were saying."

"It's such a shame that none of the electronics we ever see in class can operate inside the castle."

"You know," came the thoughtful reply, "if you'd really like to see how it works, I think it is possible to work electronics in the castle. There isn't much literature on reconciling electricity and magic, but this summer, I scratched out a theory and tested it on a few things at the Burrow. You can understand theoretically why they might be compatible at some level, since magic is just another form of energy—"

Draco hissed impatiently. Granger had somehow seen fit to give Lovegood a detailed explanation on this electricity thing. Fucking fantastic. Her voice cut off and was followed by the furious scratching of a quill.

Granger wrote for a long time before continuing with her explanation."So the goal is to isolate the magic waves that travel through the object itself. You have to undo the exposure, if you understand my meaning. In practice, you'd have to do the Arithmancy calculations and do some calibration, but Wenlock's Law of Numbers should help you a bit…"

The shuffling of a scroll, and then the sound of books being stacked. Probably Lovegood putting all her things back into her schoolbag. Draco let out a small sigh of relief as the two girls began their way out of the bathroom.

"This is amazing, Hermione," Lovegood said, sounding normal for once. "This has huge implications. You know that lots of preventative magic depends on disturbing the innate magic, right? So the possibilities are endless. If it really works the way you described, with a careful amount of calibration, you should even be able to get through an Apparition ward of set power..." Her footsteps faded away, and the door swung shut again. Silence filled the room.

Draco opened his eyes. Then, he smiled. It wasn't the first time the Mudblood's ideas had come in handy.


	2. In the Room of Requirement

**Chapter 1: In the Room of Requirement**

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_Several weeks later..._

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Hermione looked up and down the empty corridor, wand pressed up against her forearm underneath her Hogwarts robes, and whispered, "_Homenum Revelio!_"

No one appeared. Satisfied, she walked back and forth three times in front of a blank stretch of wall across from a tapestry.

"I need the room where students hide things. I need the room where students hide things…" The stone castle wall blurred, and two stately oak doors appeared, towering up to the ceiling. Hermione opened the right door a crack, took one more look down the hall and crept in. She turned around, pulled the door shut, and pointed at the large brass ring handles, saying, "_Collorportus!_"

Hermione hadn't known what to expect, but this certainly was not it. Like so many things in the wizarding world, there was an eccentric order about the room; seemingly impossible piles of—_things_—were spread out in an endless maze. She supposed that the Room was efficient; students needed to hide things all the time, and there was no reason why they shouldn't all hide things in the same place. But it seemed a stupid way to hide things, as she was about to prove it completely ineffectual.

"_Accio_ Harry's potions book!" Hermione heard a dull thud, and then a door squeaking back and forth violently as if it had been suddenly forced open. After waiting a few seconds, she felt a sharp jab above her elbow. A thump against the ground momentarily followed. Harry's book lay on the floor, one corner of its fresh covers pushed in where it had hit the ground and the pages underneath wrinkled from their collision with her arm.

Even though it was a hateful book, it was a still a book; Hermione couldn't help but smooth over the wrinkled pages. On one page, she caught sight of a crinkled diagram detailing the effect that different cuts on dandelion root had on brewing times. Captivated, Hermione looked about for a couch or chair that she could sit on. Finding none that were capable of supporting her weight, she pulled out her sweater from her bag and transfigured it into a floor pillow. Just this one page, Hermione assured herself.

Half an hour later, Hermione caught sight of her wristwatch as she turned another page. Godric! The match must be starting any moment now! Glancing down at the book in her hands, Hermione hesitated; she finally saw why the book had captivated Harry so. The notes in the margins were ferociously interesting and the Prince's knowledge was deep.

Hermione stood and tucked the book into her schoolbag. She set off down the corridor, hoping to find the door from whence the book had come. Leaving it open would be sloppy, as Harry would likely be back for the book. Finally spying a cupboard's door flung open to her right, she walked over and closed it.

Hurrying over to the room's exit, Hermione reflected—rather, she assured herself—that her objections to Harry's use of the Half-Blood Prince book lay in his irresponsibility; he ought to have shown Slughorn his alternate set of instructions. Instead, he had secretly used the book. It simply wasn't _fair_ to the other students! It had nothing to do with being beaten in a class, Hermione convinced herself, because she had long known Harry was better at Defense, and had never felt bitter about that…

And then the Prince _had _turned out to be a rather dark influence on Harry. Hermione recalled the glimpse she had caught of Snape levitating Malfoy's limp form, blood dripping off his robes, to the Hospital Wing.

She could hardly believe it when Harry reported to them that he was the one responsible for Malfoy's state. How could he have used such a spell without finding out what it did first! Harry was a force of undeniable good, full of intuition and bravery. But he was also self-righteous and arrogant. Always, no matter what the problem, Harry was sure that he could fix it and that it fell to him to fix it. Wasn't that how they got Sirius killed last year?

Hermione sighed. Sectumsempra proved that the Half-Blood Prince was definitely a dark character, but after looking through his book, she had to admit that whoever they were, they were not without some brilliance.

Detesting her own lack of foresight as she approached the doors again, she wished she had remembered to ask the Room for a way to see who was outside. She bent down to look through the keyhole. There didn't seem to be anyone there, but she couldn't be certain. Casting Homenum Revelio would do her no good when she could only see a tiny sliver of the hallway. She would take her chances, then.

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Draco cursed his luck. He had been so certain that everyone else would be at the Quidditch game. Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. Any other year, he would be down there rooting against Potter. But this year, well, everything about this year was different. And who could possibly be using the Room of Requirement, and why had they locked it? He knew Filch sometimes got cleaning supplies here, but the Squib wouldn't be able to cast a Collorpotus.

Draco fingered his wand, wondering if it would be worth it to force the door open magically, consequences be damned. Whoever was in there must have something to hide too, so they wouldn't report him to the headmaster. And even if they did, Snape would cover for him, if it came to that.

But he didn't want it to come to that; Severus Snape was not to be trusted. How Snape, that double-crossing spy, had managed to keep the Dark Lord's faith while his father hadn't, Draco would never fathom. And _Uncle Sevie_, as Draco had taken to ironically calling his Potions professor this year, got to live here in the warmth and comfort of Hogwarts castle, while in the hallways of Malfoy Manor, his parents had to stand aside, heads bowed, when the Dark Lord's pet Nagini slivered past.

A sudden glow through the keyhole warned him that the door was about to open. Motioning for Crabbe and Goyle to stay back, he heard a soft voice cast, "Alohomora." Just before the door opened, Draco Disillusioned himself. He caught his breath as Hermione Granger came out the front door, holding her book-bag tight against her right side, and darting looks both ways. She started when saw his two friends.

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Two gangly-looking Ravenclaw girls stood awkwardly in the hallway, one holding a set of scales, and the other a plate of molten cakes. They were both leaned over this plate, chewing vigorously. They glanced at Hermione, swallowed quickly, and then looked to her right. Hermione followed their gaze: there was nothing there.

Feeling a certain pity for them, as they looked quite terrified, Hermione asked cheerily, "Are you going to the match? I'm headed there now." Ever since she had been named a prefect, the underclassmen had begun to scare easily at the sight of her badge. From the looks of it, the two girls had come up here to gossip.

"I… yes!" one of the girls squeaked. Both girls looked to her right again and then began to walk withih hesitant steps down the corridor with Hermione. They both swaggered a bit, as if they had recently lost a lot of weight. Perhaps they had been dieting, and stress was inciting them to return to molten cakes? The shorter of the girls kept stealing glances over her shoulder at the spot where they had just been. Hermione turned back and saw that the long oak doors remained there. Funny.

She shook her head; she had never observed how long it took the Room to subside back into nothing before. Ron would say she was being overly uptight. She smiled wryly. "So what brings you two up here?"

"We were…we th-th-thought we might be able to…" one stuttered.

"…watch the game from up here!" the other one said.

"I think the view is rather better from the stands, don't you think?" Hermione answered, leading them down the hall. "My name is Hermione Granger and I'm a sixth-year Gyffindor prefect. I always thought it'd be fun to be in Ravenclaw like you two though. Do you really have to answer riddles to get into your common room?"

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Draco breathed out as he glanced out the keyhole at his two friends' and Granger's retreating backs. He thanked Salazar for Goyle's quick cover for Crabbe. Maybe Goyle had finally begun to develop some smarts. He seriously doubted, however, that either of his friends would provide interesting conversation the whole trek down to the Quidditch pitch. On second thought though, Granger would probably talk the whole way down. Granger… What exactly did she have to hide? Or perhaps she had found out about his project?

Not likely. After all, she was the most responsible of the Moronic Trio. Actually, all things considered, they ought to be called the Moronic Duo and the Mudblood. She was no moron, after all. She was quite cunning; he had admired the curse that had the Chang girl's best friend (what was her name again? Maria?) sporting the word "SNEAK," written in giant pimples and boils across her face, after the whole Dumbledore's Army situation last year. Yes, Hermione Granger was cunning, and she was no arrogant fool like Potter. If she suspected him, she would already have found something out. And she wouldn't keep it to herself in the hopes of playing the hero. He was certain that if she had found out, she would have gone straight to Dumbledore.

Or perhaps she already had and _dear Uncle Sevie_ had assured Dumbledore not to worry? The old fool was so gullible. If there were any indication that Draco might succeed, it was surely the fool's continued naivete. This whole war (that was what it was now, right? A war?) was so dumb. The Dark Lord had an illogical obsession on Potter, who was a mediocre wizard at best. Nothing could be done, it seemed, until Potter was taken care of. Dumbledore too, was obsessed with the boy. It was as if the whole world had conspired to make Potter important. Even the Dark Lord. Especially the Dark Lord. Each time he tried to bring Potter down, he also raised him up. The best was fourth year; was it really necessary to have Potter win the Triwizard tournament before using his blood?

Draco almost tripped over a large, flat pinkish pillow. With surprise, he bent to pick it up, examining the buttons that lined one side. It looked to be a hastily transfigured object. Waving his wand casually over it, the pillow shrunk into a girl's soft cotton jacket. Who could possibly want to hide this? Was it…Granger's?

Well, it couldn't hurt to be comfortable while he worked. Redoing the transfiguration, he cast the Colour Change charm so that it was now a sleek gunmetal grey.

Draco stopped in front of the Vanishing Cabinet and waited for the echoes of his footsteps to cease. It was imperative to him for it to be silent before he started his work, for it was solemn work. Pulling the cover off with a flourish, Draco suppressed the shiver of dread that crawled up his spine. His little panic attacks were really unacceptable, especially now that he was so close. The latest one had almost gotten him killed….Why had it overcome him? "Weak," he heard Bellatrix hiss, in his head. "Weak like your father."

He tried to focus, but the thoughts ran on. He couldn't believe Potter had seen him in that state! And Myrtle! Defending him as if they were friends! Oh, he had talked to her all right. He was lonely enough, and she, as lonely as he, had been there whenever it all became too much. But then it seemed Potter was friends with her too, and as he had lain there, knowing that he was about to die, he had reflected on the irony: Potter always got there first. The Snitch, the bottle of Felix Felices, the prophecy his father had failed to obtain, even being friends with Myrtle… But at least Myrtle was his friend now… Myrtle who was no pureblood, crying out at Potter for cursing him. That was ironic on too many levels. A half-blood nobody (or a Mudblood perhaps? Surely he would have known something about Myrtle if she was descended from an old family…) defending Draco to Potter, the People's Hero. And the Hero Boy attacking him like that. Who would have known that Potter could kill?

But Severus had found him, yes. Carried him to the infirmary. When Pomfrey was gone, cast a spell (_Muffliato._ Funny spell, that one. He would have to ask Father…) and then lectured. Cursed him for his stupidity. Why don't you just kill the headmaster now, Draco wanted to ask his pacing professor, since you think I'm so foolish? Then you can claim the glory for yourself. Then you can go back to your Master and report your success.

Enough. Draco breathed. He focused on the act of breathing itself. In and out. In and out. Aunt Bella had taught him Occlumency all summer once she learned of his task, and though Draco had never yet felt anyone besides Snape trying to crawl around his brain, the skill had helped him a lot. At times like these, he could lock all the thoughts up in a chest in his mind, and allow logical thought to dominate his thinking. He needed his focus.

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When he had first attempted to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, Draco had run into a series of seemingly intractable problems. He had spent weeks fixing one problem, only to be faced with another one, and then another one. A few weeks in, when he realized just how hard it would be, he panicked, ordering Rosmerta to hide in her own bar's bathroom and forcefully hand the cursed necklace over to the first girl she met in the restroom.

The necklace failed to reach Dumbledore, of course, and Snape had been furious. Draco returned to the Room of Requirement, feeling numb. There was no way out. He had to fix it.

After weeks of work, he finally managed to reestablish securely the link between the two Cabinets and believed he was finished. But instead, he ran straight into the next problem: the Cabinets were still unreliable for the transport of living things. When the first white dove Draco sent to Borgin came back dead, he assumed that the man had killed it, but later Borgin told him that the dove had arrived dead at the antiques shop. Draco despaired then of ever fixing the problem, devising the poisoned mead scheme instead.

But that had been a failure too. Slughorn had sat on the mead for weeks, as if undecided about whether or not to give it Dumbledore. Draco should have known better than to choose someone as self-serving as Slughorn to deliver the poisoned gift. After a short break, during which he had woken up each day hoping that today, they would announce Dumbledore dead of poison, he had finally given up on that scheme and returned to work on the cabinets with a vengeance.

Standing in front of the cabinet now, Draco conjured up some plain wooden blocks, and then filled the cabinet up with them, color-coding according to position. He closed the wardrobe door and let it begin to click.

Draco stepped back and took a seat on the large pillow he had found, contemplating his progress. He had found that the problem was the Cabinet's reaction to the anti-Apparition wards around Hogwarts, which were ancient and strong. But weeks of intensive research, while revealing many special properties of this particular set of Vanishing Cabinets, and allowing Draco to understand the mechanism of Apparition more clearly, had yielded nothing.

Then one of his panic attacks had paid off, for he had overheard Granger's extremely helpful conversation with the Lovegood girl. He managed soon after leaving the bathroom to surreptitiously replicate Lovegood's scroll while walking behind her. Over the next few weeks, Draco carefully examined Granger's work and performed the necessary calculations and experiments to find the right combination of post-facto magical exposure to return the objects to their proper states after passing through the wards.

The ticking stopped. The blocks had arrived back. Draco stood, opened the cabinet door and waved his wand, letting the blocks drift out of the cabinet in a solid mass. On the two upper right corners of the mass, the blocks had disintegrated into misshapen wooden blobs, rough on some edges and smooth on others. A thin discontinuity in color beset the left edge of the mass. He flicked his wand casually, checking to see if any grains had been interrupted within. None had.

Examination over, he vanished the blocks. The results matched all his calculations. He knew that the top right and the leftmost edges of the space were still not performing properly. But Draco decided he only needed to fit in some precautionary guards so that people didn't stand with their hands or heads in the problem areas. After installing them, he would finally test the cabinet on himself. Not a moment too soon, his father might have added.

As he prepared to step into the cabinet, Draco shuddered, recalling again that first white dove, the one the cabinet had simply killed in transit. Perhaps, despite his careful work, he would end up like Montague anyway? Then the Dark Lord could not possibly punish his parents…Even before he finished the thought, Draco knew it wasn't true. His parents would pay for any mistakes Draco made. There was no room for failure.

Draco steeled himself. He was certain the cabinet would work; he had done enough tests, with enough doves. He brushed aside the cover, which he had put back onto the cabinet for safety, and then stepped in.

The transit was sickening, with all the rubber-tubed feeling of Apparition, but inducing claustrophobia as well. He fought against the wave of magically caused confusion that threatened to overwhelm him despite the Alertness Charms he had placed, and he was paralyzed with fear, fear that should he move even a finger, he would lose it. At the end, he felt his skin fasten together. Keeping his feet planted, he listened to the ticks of the cabinet door. Before the last click, he had a sudden flash of knowing; Borgin would open the door, wand raised. What if Borgin performed the usual? Opened the door and let loose a flash of green light…

The door opened. Borgin, no longer courteous, looked Draco from head to toe, lowered his wand arm, and then sneered, "About time." The shop bell chimed. Someone else had come from the front door. Borgin stepped swiftly out of the back room where he now stored the cabinet and out to the counter.

Draco stepped out of the cabinet, sinking to the floor, and rubbed at his temples, letting the confusion and fear subside. The cabinet would fit at most two per transit, he was sure. But he would insist on one per transit; he was certain that in their eagerness, the Death Eaters would disregard the constraints he had put inside.

Draco flicked his wand tiredly, focusing on the word "_Tempus!_" in his mind. So the transit was a little over two minutes, including getting in and out of the cramped space. He began to calculate. Two minutes for each Death Eater to come to the castle. Bellatrix would surely be selected to come. But, who else? He sighed, knowing that once, his father would have been selected for such a task. Rowle, then. And Yaxley. The Carrows. Perhaps Rodolphous? Gibbon, certainly. That made seven Death Eaters. The Dark Lord would like that; seven was a magically powerful number. Fourteen minutes, then. That's how long it would take for the entire force to assemble in Hogwarts. The chill Draco thought he had left behind this week as he worked furiously towards the completion of the Cabinets settled back into him.

Borgin returned. "Sitting on the floor and you, a Malfoy. How the mighty have fallen." He gave a wheezing, hollow laugh. Though afraid at first, Borgin had quickly deduced the true standing of the Malfoy family within the Dark Lord's circle currently. "Well, off with you then. Back into the cupboard you go."

"No, I can't… there's no one else in the Room right now. I'd be stuck until someone else came into the room, linking it to the castle." Draco quickly said. He conjured up some birds, freezing them in mid-air and then placing them within the cabinet. He was fairly sure the return trip would be clean, as he had performed the exact same magical exposure adjustment treatment to both Cabinets. Still, it would be good to check one more time. "Send these back for me. I'll sneak back into the castle by another means."

Draco hurried to exit the shop. He needed to get to the Manor so his parents could inform the Dark Lord before Borgin or one of his friends reported the success and claimed all the credit for themselves. Walking out into the street though, he felt noticeably lighter. He had overcome the greatest hurdle. For the first time in weeks, he looked up into the skin and appreciated the warm glow of sunlight on his face. Draco breathed in the fresh air, and Apparated.  
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The Manor was dark and heavy, as it always was these days. Draco chose to appear without ceremony at the doorstep of his home. He could have Apparated directly into the mansion, but if the Dark Lord was holding court in the dining room, then he would rather be out here. This way, at least his mother could come attend to the door, and he would hopefully have a private word with her.

As he expected, it was his mother who opened the door, instead of, as was wont in years past, a house elf. She and Lucius had decided that it was the best way to keep track of what was going on the in the Manor, now that it served as one of the Dark Lord's unofficial headquarters.

"Draco!" She quickly pulled him inside. He could see her checking his appearance for signs of injuries.

"Mother, I'm fine."

She breathed out. "I was so worried…" She pushed the hair on her side back over her shoulder, and then pulled him into a tight embrace. "Draco…"

Steps sounded up the corridor. Draco pulled away from the embrace quickly, only to be embraced again, this time by his father.

Draco felt the weight of expectation settle onto his shoulders at his father's arrival. He pushed his parents away and took a deep breath. "Father, Mother, I…I have news for you to report to the Dark Lord. Good news. I have secured a passageway for the Dark Lord's followers into Hogwarts. You must tell him that I— "

"A passageway! How? When? Why did Severus not—"

"Because I did not care to tell him. Please, Mother, if you will listen; we have not much time, for Borgin is no doubt preparing to report to the Dark Lord as we speak…"

Both his parents fell silent. His father gestured. "Go on, then."

"The large cabinet that's always been in Borgins and Burkes is a Vanishing Cabinet; the twin is at Hogwarts. It's clear no one ever realized they were connected; the Hogwarts cabinet was broken beyond repair. But I've fixed it…"

His father pounded him on the back. "I knew from the first that you were up to the task. Well done, Draco, well done! Now, come along. We shall tell Bella and the others immediately."

"Is he here?"

"No," Narcissa glanced at her husband.

Draco looked to his father for an explanation. His father rubbed his hands together, and then clasped them behind his back. "The Dark Lord is… ah… away on business. He will be back tonight. We will take care of reporting for you, Draco. The Dark Lord will be so proud, so pleased…He will have plans, no doubt…Now let us just head to the drawing room and—"

Draco took another step back from both his parents, suddenly suffocated. He had to get out of here, away from the shame of seeing his parents, especially his father, brought so low. "No, I think it best you and Mother tell Aunt Bella without me. I had best be back to the castle."

A slight shift in his father's movement. In a lower tone, one that did not quite succeed in veiling the disappointment, his father said,"Yes, yes, of course you must return, Draco." His father had been such a different man since his return from Azkaban. He had taken to randomly pulling Draco aside, talking in fits and starts about Draco's chances to redeem the family. His hair, once so sleek and shiny, hung in limp clumps. "Draco, we are so proud…"

Draco nodded sharply. "Mother, Father." He pulled out his wand, and Apparated to Hogsmeade, already relieved to be free of the oppressive air that hung about the Manor. Perhaps he could order Rosmerta to fix him a butterbeer for free…

.

* * *

.

Hermione checked her watch. Even Luna's entertaining commentary couldn't mask the fact that this really had been a long game, much longer than she thought it would be. Really, how could people watch a sport that could simply last for hours depending on two people managing to spot a tiny flying object? The Hufflepuffs had found some fairly decent Beaters who kept preventing Harry from catching the Snitch. In the mean time, McLaggen was making a fool of himself and Gryffindor was falling behind as a result. When McLaggen failed to defend the goalposts as he was too busy demonstrating how to hit a Bludger properly, Hermione cringed in embarrassment, unable to believe she had actually attended Slughorn's party with him.

Shivering, Hermione wrapped both arms around herself. The thing she hated about Quidditch was how _cold _it was. Wizards, Hermione felt, didn't really understand comfort. That they sometimes used magic to create comfort was certain—just consider butterbeer, or the magical chocolate. But on the whole, despite their magic, wizards made do with simply archaic customs. Hermione bent down to her bag to get her jacket before starting in recollection. Her jacket was still in the Room of Requirement!

Hermione leaned over and talked in Seamus' ear so he could hear her over the cheers. "Do you mind standing up so I can pass through? I'm going to run up to my room and get my jacket."

"Isn't this a good game?" Seamus mindlessly replied. "I thought it'd be a blowout but Hufflepuff is really putting up a good fight. Their new Seeker's got nothing on Harry, of course, but…"

Hermione squeezed past Seamus and left him speaking his analysis to the air.

Half an hour later found Hermione wandering around the Room of Requirement hoping she was not lost in the Room's many twists. She was certain that she had left her jacket near that grotesque broken statue of the ancient Mermen king, but it was definitely not there. Where else could it be? She passed again the cupboard Harry had likely hidden his book in, looking curiously this time at a tiara resting on top of it. Finally, she spotted a large, flat, pillow-like object propped up on the edge of one of the Room's many disorderly piles. But it was grey!

Walking over, she observed knew immediately that it was her jacket, though someone, or the Room itself, must have charmed it a different color. The buttons of her jacket were still lined along one edge. She waved her wand and watched as the pillow shrunk back into her jacket, still that pretty shade of—oh, what would she call it—gunmetal grey. Pulling it on, she glanced around, wondering what obtuse object lay under the tapestry to her right. She pulled it off, and gazed up at a very familiar looking cabinet. Where had she seen it before?

Her reflection was cut short by footsteps approaching. Someone was coming! Could it be Harry? No, Harry wouldn't have come _here_; he would be over by the cupboard where he had hidden his book. Besides, even if the match had already ended, Harry would be caught up in post-game celebrations or mourning.

The footsteps came closer. Perhaps she could hide in the cabinet? Hermione quickly waved her wand over the tapestry, letting it drape over the cabinet once more, and stepped in, leaving the door ajar so she could listen.

.

* * *

.

Upon arriving at the castle once more, Draco doubled back up to the seventh floor to check on the birds. Walking down the hall, he noticed the room was still in use; the doors still visible. Yes, it had been careless of the Granger girl to ask for a room that had doors. Dumbledore's Army had certainly been more careful last year. But why should the Room still be here? Perhaps the Room of Requirement still thought he was inside?

With a start he realized he had left the grey cushion propped up to the left of the cabinet. What if Granger came back looking for it? He opened the door, turned around, cast _Collorportus_ and then headed for the Vanishing Cabinet.

Draco stopped. He was so sure he had heard something, some noise. "_Homenum Revelio!_" he whispered quietly. No one appeared.

The cushion was gone, but everything seemed all right. Perhaps Granger had fetched the cushion already and left? Well, time for work. Draco pulled the cover off. The door suddenly swung open and a wand was pointed in his face.

Granger was inside the Cabinet! Sweet Circe, lover of pigs!

"_Expelliarmus!_" she cried. Draco's wand went flying. He made to grab her own wand, but she quickly Stunned him.

.

* * *

.

Hermione was stunned. How had _Draco Malfoy _found her here? And why had he decided to look inside this cabinet? The adrenaline slowly drained out of her, and the wave of confusion to it had chased away began to return. Maybe this space was too small? Hermione quickly stepped out of the space, over Malfoy's Stunned body.

"First things first," she said, flicking her wand over the frozen doves in various positions of flight with which she had shared the cabinet's space. They twittered prettily once freed and flew up towards the stained glass window, choosing perches in the rafters.

Suddenly, everything made sense. She had seen an identical copy of this cabinet in Borgins and Burkes. They were twins! Vanishing Cabinets! He must be working on a way out of the castle. But to what? Godric! Could he be planning to let someone into the castle? Voldemort? Death Eaters?

Hermione levitated Malfoy so that he lay further from the cabinet. Checking to see that he really was unconscious, curiosity suddenly got the better of her. What if Harry was right after all?

She knelt next to him and reached for his left forearm. Rolling back the sleeves of his robes, she started to push up on his sleeve and white button-down shirt, only to find that his cuff links—silver snakes wrapped around small stones with green eyes—prevented further movement up his arm. She magically undid the links, and the buttons above it, and then pushed up the sleeve to reveal the black telltale mark. Hermione breathed out. Malfoy was a Death Eater.

"Oh, Harry's going to be so unbearable!" she exclaimed. Now what to do? She couldn't very well go haul Malfoy around the school, Stunned as he was. Perhaps she should question him first? No, that could go very badly indeed. But her first instinct, which was to tell Harry and Ron, could also go very badly; they would ask her what she was doing up here. And though Harry felt terrible right now about cursing Malfoy, she was sure that he would react impulsively if she told him that all his suspicions about Malfoy were correct.

Hermione suddenly felt guilty—hadn't she attacked Malfoy first? He had simply removed the drapes from the Cabinet and she had Disarmed and Stunned him first thing. She had to give him a chance; she couldn't be like Harry. She sighed.

"_Incarcerous. Ennervate,_" she said, tucking his wand into her bag and then leaning over his face.

.

* * *

.

Draco blinked into the light. He groaned; his shirt was too tight, no… something was too tight around his torso. Looking up, he blinked into a mass of brown curls.

"Granger?" he croaked. "Granger! You… Mudblood! Ropes! Let me go."

Granger stood and then backed away, wand still clearly aimed at him. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. I can't trust you. I… just tell me what you were doing up here and we'll let bygones be bygones."

"Bygones! First you Disarm me, then you Stun me, then you tie me up and interrogate me and you want me to call them bygones!" Draco struggled to sit up.

"_Mobilicorpus_," Granger muttered. Draco felt his body yank upwards. He drifted through the air, his back finally settling on bits of a broken desk and some old books. "Is that better?"

"I don't need your help, Mudblood. Let me out of these this instant." Draco said coldly. He took inventory of the situation. His hands were bound, his wand no doubt in her bag. Crabbe and Goyle were probably still at the match, or else back in the Slytherin common room. With his record of absences this year, no one would find it strange that he was missing for at least a day. Hateful girl.

Granger's eyes narrowed but she said calmly, "If you please, Malfoy, I'm trying to keep it civil."

The muscles in Draco's neck clenched up tightly; he was filled with sudden hate. "If this is a _civil _conversation, Granger, let me out of these ropes and you'll see just how _civil _I can be."

His eyes fell on a glint of silver at her feet. A snake… his cuff links. With panic, he looked down at his left arm. The sleeve to his pullover had been rolled up, his white shirt's left sleeve unbuttoned. The bottom half of his Dark Mark was clearly visible from beneath his shirt. So she knew. Well, this he could use to his advantage, and if not, well his cuff links….

He schooled his face. In a low, Snape-like voice, he said, "Do you really want to make me angry, Granger? Do you have any idea what I'm capable of? Or what will happen if you get in my way?"

Not a tremble escaped her. She did a very good job of keeping her body still, he would give her that. But her eyes widened just the slightest bit. Draco felt triumphant.

"Just give me back my wand and we'll get out of here." He spoke commandingly now.

But Granger had other ideas. "No," she said. "It doesn't matter what I do to you. They'll… your side… they'll get me anyway. For being a Muggle-born, for being Harry's best friend. I'm not afraid of you."

But of course, the Gryffindor. The hate drained out of Draco. It wasn't her fault per se that she was dirty, so dirty. And if she hadn't befriended Potter, he thought, he might never have hated her at all. She would just be like those other annoying Gryffindor girls, Patil and Brown, albeit more intelligent. But there was no keeping her silent now, no. He would have to Obliviate her, and deal with the consequences if he fudged up the Memory Charm.

He shut his eyes to concentrate hard on the cufflink. He envisioned the mouth opening, its silver fangs sinking into pale, creamy skin. Granger gave a small gasp. Draco opened his eyes. The little snake had darted forward and sunk its fangs through the white socking, just above her right foot. Her wand arm trembled and she crumpled to the floor. Perfect.

Still concentrating hard, Draco said to his right wrist, "_Mobilius._" Though he was wandless, he knew the cuff links, being magical objects themselves, would respond to certain commands. The right cuff link now slithered up his arm towards the ropes. One bite dissolved them.

"Right," Draco said. Picking up Granger's bag (how many books did she carry in here?), he ruffled through until he found his wand. Tucking her wand into his robe pocket, he waved his wand at his cuff links, which settled back into their rightful positions. Useful things, these. Then he pointed his wand at her. Oh, how their positions had reversed.

"_Ennervate._"

Draco waited. The girl did not stir. "_Ennervate,_" he repeated.

.

* * *

.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." The girl was still unconscious. He began to review everything he knew about the potion contained in his cuff links. He was so certain that they only render her unconscious temporarily, mirroring the workings of a Stupefy. So why wasn't she waking? She was… yes! She was still breathing. Now there was only one thing he could think of to do.


	3. Apologies

**Chapter 2: Apologies**

_._

.

Draco hurried down the stairs. Damn Slytherin for being in the dungeons. Damn the Room of Requirement for being so far away. But at least the castle was still empty; the game was still going on. Really, Potter, Draco thought, how long does it take to avoid a couple of Bludgers and catch the Snitch?

He knocked on the door. Please let him be there, Draco prayed. Please. Sweet Salazar, please.

Severus Snape opened his office door. "Draco," he said.

Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, do come in." How did the man always sound so sarcastic? Was that how he got away playing both sides?

Draco held the door open with his left hand and discreetly waved the Disillusioned Granger into the room with his wand in his right. He stared hard at Snape as he let door fall shut behind him, hoping to convey that they needed to talk in private.

His professor got the message. "We are free to talk."

Draco immediately levitated Granger up onto a desk and undid her Disillusionment her. He set her bag down on the desk next to her, and then tucked her wand into it.

"I… she… she caught me. I had to use these—" he lifted his wand arm up to show the cuff links, and now that he had started, the words poured out in a rush "—to escape. I had one inject poison into her and then she collapsed and wouldn't awaken! But she was only supposed to be unconscious for a bit! You have to fix her!" With some effort, Draco stemmed the flow of words. This was no time to make _Uncle Sevie_ think of him as a child. He was in control. He had to be.

.

* * *

.

Severus stared. The cuff links… yes, he remembered now. Lucius' cuff links. Now apparently Draco's. But Lucius would never have taught the boy how to use them after what they, Severus and Lucius, had discovered together, and he would not have given the boy these to wear, not with Draco's task being what it was this year. They were so easily influenced, these cuff links. It had taken the two of them so long to purify the links after the Dark Lord's first fall. If Draco should be wearing them while killing… perhaps it was Bellatrix, then? No, it would be Narcissa. Yes, Narcissa would have taught the boy to always wear them. Just in case, she would have said.

"You fool," Severus whispered, not sure whether he was referring to Draco or his mother. He gestured at the girl. "How long has she been this way?"

Then he waved his wand, summoning vials from his inner chambers.

.

* * *

.

Draco swallowed. "I was in the Room of Requirement. I came down immediately after she...became unconscious. Uncle Severus, I promise. I thought they only Stunned."

His professor was busy examining the girl now. Already a cauldron had been set, a low fire burning beneath. The vials began levitating and tipping in of their own accord, a wooden ladle stirring without help each time new ingredients were added. "Stunned. Yes, you fool. And who told you that, I wonder? Dear Mother?"

"Yes, she said it was for emergencies. It was an emergency! I thought it would just buy me some time…"

At this, Snape finally turned his attention away from Granger's limp body. "What potion did you think it contained? Have you ever heard of such a potion? Or is Slughorn so poor a teacher that you have forgotten the difference between a spell and a potion?"

Draco remained silent. The best way to deal with Snape's caustic comments sometimes was to say nothing at all.

After a few moments, Snape continued on, "Your mother would have made sure that in the event that you had to use the cuff links, whichever enemies managed to Disarm and corner you would be dealt with, permanently. Miss Granger exhibits symptoms of having been exposed to Baneberry Potion."

Draco shut his eyes so Snape would not be able to see the panic rising there. Baneberry Potion was very lethal. He tried to remember how long the silver snake had let its fangs rest above her ankle before withdrawing. No! He couldn't remember telling it to stop!

But it couldn't be… she couldn't be dead. She was Granger. And Granger was… well, she was smart, she was his age, and she would marry the Weasel and have little half-blooded red-headed horrors. And he, Theo and Blaise would laugh at the whole family's unsophisticated ways when this all was over. When this all was over.

"Thankfully," his professor continued, "it looks like you ordered the cuff links to Stun only, so they tried for the nearest thing, which was administering a non-fatal dose. Had you left her without treatment, she would have been out for weeks, her magic slowly working at the contained toxins." Snape rolled down her sockings so the fang marks above her right ankle were visible. He pointed his wand at the cauldron. Several red beads of thick liquid lifted into the air. With a little direction from Snape, they settled onto the irritated skin surrounding the bite marks. Granger's skin absorbed the beads at once. "As you brought her to me, however, she should wake quite soon. An hour, at most."

She would live, then. Good. But that meant she would remember… Draco knew he had to have her taken care of, and now he had involved Snape, he might as well have the man take care of it. He didn't want to do it himself; memory charms could permanently damage a person, and the more important the memory, the easier for it go wrong. He couldn't afford for it to go wrong. Better to have Snape perform the Memory Charm. "She knows I'm a Death Eater. You have to Obliviate her. She can't know! She's Potter's best friend."

"Yes, Draco, as I am well aware," Snape said sardonically. "The collected group of sixth-year Gryffindors would have failed my class long ago, if it weren't for her allowing them to cheat off her. A moral bunch, the Gryffindors in your year."

Draco couldn't bring himself to laugh, not with Granger lying there, only just returned from the dead in his mind. "Yes," he said.

Snape turned, and then surveyed Draco carefully. "But Draco," he said silkily, "surely you weren't afraid that the girl would be dead?"

"I…" This was dangerous. Who knew what the man really thought? Perhaps he hated Mudbloods as much as Bellatrix did. Draco schooled his face. "I thought it would be best to avoid another incident like the Katie Bell girl's. We're so close, and I…"

"Yes?" Snape was very close, his eyes fixed on Draco's.

Draco made an effort at smoothness. "I merely thought it would make someone suspicious if she disappeared, sir."

Snape had now started a second cauldron. Vials continued to whiz in and out of his room. "If I may ask, Draco, how is it that Granger discovered your little secret? And managed to disarm you?"

Draco pushed away at his injured pride. Now was not the time. He needed Snape to Obliviate the girl. He said, "She caught me in the Room of Requirement."

"As you announced when you first entered this room," Snape said.

Draco nearly cursed. Careless under pressure, as usual. Now he would have to tell Snape something else. All Slytherins knew how it worked. Give a little, get a little. Just make sure the little you're giving is less than the little you're getting.

"I… Do you know the cabinet in Borgins and Burkes, Professor? And the one Montague got stuck in earlier last year? They are twins. I have been fixing them all year. Today when I went to check on the Cabinet, Granger was inside it! She got me before I had even pulled my wand."

There. Draco waited for the barb that would follow such a description of his ineptitude, but none came. "She felt it was necessary to Disarm you?"

"You know we are not friendly, Professor."

Snape said nothing. Draco realized that he would have to say something more. Well, it couldn't hurt to tell Snape of his success, could it? His parents would have already reported it to the Dark Lord, and perhaps, just maybe, Snape would be impressed.

"I finished fixing it today, Professor. I took it to Borgin's shop as a test. Now the Death Eaters can come to the castle and help fight should Dumbledore and the other professors put up a good fight."

Snape went very still indeed. "Very good, Draco. Your father would be pleased."

Draco wanted to sneer. His father would be pleased, yes, what a godsend. Thank Circe for that, really.

"Very well." Snape was suddenly brisk. "I shall take care of it, Draco. Have you notified the Dark Lord or would you like me to do it?"

"I told my parents," Draco said shortly.

"Yes, they will have notified the Dark Lord by now I imagine," Snape replied. Something shifted in the conversation after his statement, but Snape remained bent over his cauldron, silent for a few moments.

Then he said, almost conversationally, "The Dark Lord will have some suggestions for how you should continue…. But in the meantime… you will take some time to study then, Draco? Your father would not be pleased with the marks you will receive should you continue to perform poorly in classes. You have, of course, been practicing the three Unforgivables?"

Draco nodded. "Yes."

It was as if Snape had developed (dare he say it?) _social skills_. The man _smiled_ at him, and then gestured casually at Granger's limp body. "Miss Granger has reacted very well to the treatment. There should be no difficulties. Next time, Draco, I expect you will be careful enough to examine any magical object someone else gives you contains? Even if that someone is your mother."

Draco suppressed the relief that flooded every pore of his body. "Will she really be alright?"

As if amused, Snape eyed him, "Concerned, are we?"

"She is…" Draco paused, uncertain what to say and unnerved by his professor's behavior. "She is quite smart for a Mudblood. If she were to suffer adverse effects, it might prompt her to do some research."

The conversation shifted again. Snape straightened up and set down his wand. "I said I would take care of it, Draco."

Draco sensed that somehow that shift was his fault. Suddenly sorry, he tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing. He turned, then turned again. "Thank you, Professor. For this, and for saving my life this week. I… I am sorry for what I said before Christmas break."

"You are excused." Snape continued to administer to the second cauldron, not even glancing up.

Draco opened the door, and slipped out. He thanked Salazar for everything that had happened today: he had fixed the cabinet, he had contained the Granger problem, and Snape was actually helping him, or so he hoped. Now only one little green curse (little, yes, a nasty voice in his head reminded him) stood between him and freedom. Or as close to freedom as there would be so long as Potter and the Dark Lord still lived. With an almost-bounce in his step, one he had lost since the end of fifth year, he strutted back to the Slytherin Common Room, ready to reclaim his spot at the top of the heap and revive his grades.

.

* * *

.

Hermione awoke in the infirmary. A hollow pain seemed to throb out from her right leg. She tried to sit up, but found her arms strangely unresponsive.

"Ah. Miss Granger, you are awake."

Hermione swiveled her eyes to towards the voice, as she was unable to move her head. With great effort, she began to speak. "Professor Snape, why can't I move?"

Then, everything came back to her rapidly. "Professor! I know why I'm here." The effort it cost her to say those words slowed her down. She swallowed painfully.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Now, if you will slowly bite down on this chocolate, we will address that shortly."

Hermione bit down. Warmth flooded in, and her motor control returned.

"Can you walk, Miss Granger? We shall go to the Headmaster's office now."

"Yes," Hermione bit out.

Madame Pomfrey hurried out from her office. "Severus, I do insist. The girl is in terrible shape."

Professor Snape drew himself up and looked disinterestedly at the fat, comfortable nurse. "I also insist, Poppy. So if you will step aside, now…"

Hermione glanced at Ron's bed, wondering why he hadn't noticed her yet. Surely he had seen her being carried in?

"I have charmed him so he is oblivious to our movements for the time being," Snape said. Pomfrey could be seen bustling back into her office, muttering something about irresponsible professors.

She followed Snape down the hall, focusing on the back of his head so she could ignore the pain that had once more begun to emanate from her right leg. With her eyes, she tried following the swing of her book bag, which Professor Snape held unceremoniously by clasping the straps in his hand, as if putting the straps around his arm, and tucking the bag underneath would emasculate him. The swinging began to make her dizzy.

"More chocolate, I would presume," came Snape's dry voice.

Hermione reached out, took the chocolate in hand, and bit down. Once again, the warmth flooded in. But as her physical pain lessened again, emotional anxiety rushed in to take its place. What if Harry was right—right about everything? What if Snape—Professor Snape, that is—was not to be trusted? But there was no time to seriously consider the thought, as they had arrived in front of Dumbledore's guarding gargoyle.

"Fizzing Whizbees," drawled Snape.

"Fizz fizz!" The gargoyle replied, shifting aside.

Hermione wandered up the stairs behind Snape's billowing cloak.

"Ah. Hermione." Dumbledore was standing at what must be his Pensieve. Hermione cast a curious glance at the object that Harry had used all year with the Headmaster. "Severus, Hermione, please make yourselves comfortable."

Hermione chose a comfy looking chair, feeling much more at ease having now seen the Headmaster. "Professor," she began.

"There is no hurry," Dumbledore interrupted. "Take your time, Hermione, please. Professor Snape and I are well aware of the circumstances which bring you here, but we would like a full recounting."

Wondering if this was how Harry felt at the end of every year, Hermione opened her mouth, only to realize that the story began somewhere she would very much like to keep secret from both the Headmaster and Professor Snape. Wondering if Snape had already searched her book bag, she decided to start, lest her open mouth start to look suspicious.

"I was at the game," she said. "I was very cold, and had left my jacket in Gryffindor Tower so I, I went to fetch it."

She knew she had to be careful now – after all, _Malfoy_ had found _her_ in the cabinet, and Professor Snape was sure to know it.

"I… Well, Professor, you know how Harry has been about Draco Malfoy…well, I decided to do Harry a favor when I saw Malfoy inside the castle and followed him. When he opened up the Room of Requirement, I slipped inside behind him….I was Disillusioned, you see."

Hermione took another bite of the chocolate so she would have some time to invent something. When she could no longer pretend to still be swallowing the chocolate, she continued. "He… he came to a stop in front of a giant cabinet, and I just needed to know what was inside. So I… well, I was being really stupid, so I distracted him temporarily with some sounds and slipped inside the Cabinet. But of course a moment later he came back , he pulled back the door and I was so scared that I Disarmed him and Stunned him immediately. And then I found out he was a Death Eater! And Professor, his cuff link, it attacked me! It bit me and the next thing I know I woke up and Professor Snape brought me here."

"I see now why you and Potter are such good friends," Snape said. "You share a… reckless curiosity. And a propensity for poorly performed spells."

Hermione's heart sank. Professor Snape obviously hadn't bought a single word.

"Well found, Miss Granger, well found." Dumbledore chuckled merrily. Hermione stared at him. "Yes, Professor Snape and I have been well aware of Draco Malfoy's Death Eater status this year."

Hermione suddenly wondered if they knew anything at all. "Then you know that he has been planning to help Death Eaters gain entrance to the castle through the Vanishing Cabinet?" Her voice grew shill. "That he's probably been working on it all year, working to endanger students, while you sat here, letting students be endangered, and lying to Harry when he expressed concern!"

Dumbledore had been still, but now he shifted unexpectedly and glanced at Snape.

"Yes," Snape said, precipitously. He stopped and started again, looking sideways at Hermione. "The boy confessed it all to me today. He has finished fixing the pair of cabinets. If they chose to attack today, the whole lot of Death Eaters would have access to the castle."

Dumbledore stood abruptly. "Severus."

Snape sneered. "Of course. But shall we attend to the business at hand?"

Now Hermione wondered if Snape had known all along, and she had simply forced his hand by telling Dumbledore first.

Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "We have discussed this already, Severus and I. We have agreed that for your safety, it would be best if you would agree to be Obliviated. It would only be a slight memory charm, Hermione, and Draco is under the impression that you will not remember."

Hermione found herself agreeing. Yes, if anyone found out, Professor Snape would be in trouble… But supposing Harry were right? And how could Dumbledore deceive Harry so about Malfoy? Indignant on Harry's behalf, she exclaimed, "I will not agree. We are not children, anymore, Professor. Harry, least of all. And yet you hide these things from him. Ask him to concentrate elsewhere when his intuition is right! Now I have evidence that he is right, you wish to Obliviate me?"

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed, "But it is in his best interest. What Malfoy is doing is much less important than what I must teach Harry."

Hermione was suddenly infuriated. She stood. "What is important, yes! I suppose you know best what is important, don't you! Leaving him to learn Occlumency last year with _Professor Snape_! Snape, who has hated Harry from the moment he stepped into this castle! Really, Professor, sometimes I wonder if you care about Harry at all, or if he is merely another chess piece on your board! Ever since he's come to Hogwarts, you have exposed him to greater and greater dangers."

Dumbledore's face was curiously blank and this led Hermione to expound on her anger. "Arranging to be conveniently out of town when Quirrell attempted to get the stone so three little first years could try their hands at protecting the Sorceror's stone! Letting Lucius Malfoy run you out of the school second year, fully aware that Harry would be reckless enough to brave the Chamber of Secrets by himself! I can't help but wonder, Professor, did you really know so little about your good friend Alastor Moody that you managed to mistake Barty Crouch Jr. for him for an entire year? And you know that the fiasco in the Ministry last year would never have happened if we had just been allowed to join the Order in some form! For years now Harry, and sometimes Ron and I, have been exposed to dangers of every kind, while you played the all-knowing, benevolent God! But now I see you are not omniscient at all, and this is no game anymore. I can't begin to fathom how Harry has managed to survive so long under your poor care! He has come face to face with the one of History's most evil wizards not once, not twice, but five times! You, Dumbledore, have essentially allowed him to! And still you insist that we are children, insist on keeping secrets and speaking in riddles, pretending that you do so for our own protection! Some protection!"

Hermione just as suddenly ran out of steam. She sat down again, lost.

Professor Snape silkily said, "I see I am not the only one whose faith runs low, Albus."

Ignoring Snape, Dumbledore looked at Hermione. "What would you have me do, Hermione? Harry must focus, and he is easily distracted."

Hermione knew in her heart that this was true, but Snape had other ideas for the conversation. "Really, Headmaster. _They are not ready._ I told you not to let her choose, to just let me Obliviate her. Instead, you insisted that we come here for this conversation. She will not be in danger. Even should Draco fail to prevent the Dark Lord from seeing the happenings of this afternoon, it will be inconsequential. If the Dark Lord is assured that she has been Obliviated, she will not be in danger! But should she not be Obliviated, we shall run every risk. It is not just my life that she endangers with such an insistence. Draco's kindness will be interpreted as weakness! I told you that Potter is egotistical, puffed full of his own self-importance. And now it seems his friends, even the more responsible ones, willingly follow and imitate his reckless behavior!"

"But he was right after all, Professor! We would not need to be reckless, if we had access to more information!" Hermione interjected, shrill again.

"Hermione, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "Please."

Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, you understand the danger. If you refuse to be Obliviated, then should anyone find out what you know, both Severus and Draco's lives may well be forfeit. Before you look at me like that, Miss Granger, I would like to point out that though Draco Malfoy may be marked as a Death Eater, there is not another Death Eater in the world, present company excluded, who, instead of leaving you to die, would have come to beg Severus to heal you."

"You mean to say," Hermione pressed her point, "that whatever Malfoy is planning will have no ill effects on the school?"

Dumbledore hesitated, "I mean to say, Hermione, that the Order will take care of it. In the mean time, your knowledge of this afternoon's events endangers Severus' position."

Hermione understood, of course. If it was really going to be taken care of— and really, she thought guiltily, when had Dumbledore gambled wrongly?—then she might as well be Obliviated. Though she wanted to tell Harry and Ron, she saw that there was no way she could safely do so. They would probably rush out to duel Malfoy immediately. But the real worry was what Voldemort might or might not see in Harry's mind, considering his unwillingness to practice Occlumency. Still, Hermione wanted to keep the memory. Just so one of the three of them knew what Malfoy was, should it come to that. "Supposing I learned Occlumency, Professor," she began.

"Absolutely not," interrupted Snape. "I do not have time for idiots."

"Hermione is far from an idiot, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly, surveying both unhappy faces in front of him. "And it seems you are volunteering? I know it is a task on your time, Severus. Perhaps you could help Miss Granger here could master Occlumency, and a measure of Legilimency? Then she could help Harry master it."

Though Dumbledore's tone was calm, a measure of disappointment accompanied that last sentence. Hermione took it that Dumbledore had not been pleased with the disasterous results of last year's Occlumency lessons.

Snape looked resigned. "Very well. Saturday afternoons, Miss Granger, seeing as you seem to detest Quidditch games, and every weeknight evening, including Sundays. You will announce to your friends that I caught you lurking with _this_," and at this he held up Harry's Potions book, "and that since it is so obviously _yours_, I have assigned you detention for the rest of the quarter. As this Saturday afternoon is past already, I will expect you tonight after dinner. Not a word to your friends on what this is really about, of course. Now you are excused, Miss Granger."

Not knowing whether to be thankful for his quick acquiescence on the Occlumency lessons or furious for the invasion of her privacy, Hermione stood. "Thank you Professor Dumbledore. Thank you Professor Snape, for healing me. I… will go see if the Quidditch match is still going on."

"Of course, Hermione. Lemon drop?" Dumbledore said warmly.

"No, thank you sir." Hermione looked up to see a clever, beady-eyed portrait chuckle. All around, she could see the interested eyes of the former Headmasters' portraits fixed on her. Hermione hurriedly picked her bag up from beside Snape, wondering why he, too, was looking at her so intently, and left Dumbledore's eccentric office. Conscious of the eyes following her every move, she stepped quickly to the spiral staircase. As the staircase rotated away, she heard the portraits erupt into loud conversation.

Hermione smiled. Some things never ceased to amaze, no matter how many years she spent in the wizarding world.

.

* * *

.

The moment the Granger girl disappeared from view, the portraits in Dumbledore's office began to proclaim their surprise. Severus watched as Dumbledore winked and waited patiently for the portraits to fade into silence. One by one, they stopped talking except for Phineas Nigellus Black, whose voice could be heard still going on, "A terrible idea! Really, young people these days—"

"Please, Phineas," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Severus has something to say."

"I do indeed," hissed Severus. "Really, Albus. More lessons?"

"She is quite bright," countered Dumbledore. "You admitted so yourself. You also seem to feel that she is capable of nightly Occlumency sessions, on top of her current workload."

"She deserves detention! Carrying around my book!"

"And you said just an hour ago when informing me of the situation that you thought she was merely covering for Harry."

"All the more reason why he should be expelled!"

"But as we know, he did not intend to hurt Draco so."

"He sought Draco out in the bathroom intending to force the truth out of him! And then he nearly killed him!"

"And his instincts were correct, were they not, Severus? And I believe you invented that spell while you were in school yourself, hence your ready use of its counter-curse. Perhaps I should be asking you about that?"

"He lied to me!"

"And you did not exactly encourage honesty, Severus," chuckled Dumbledore. "If we may discuss more important matters? Draco has finished fixing some cabinets, you say? Hermione seems to feel that he will bring others into the castle."

Severus suddenly felt old. Perhaps this was how Dumbledore felt, always. "Yes, it seems he has fixed the Cabinet Montague got lost in last year. It is a Vanishing Cabinet; its twin is in Borgins and Burkes. He says he used it to go to the shop this afternoon. You should have heard me out when I came to you before when she was still in the Hospital Wing. Now she has seen that we were uninformed."

"As we were," Dumbledore continued, unperturbed. "I thought it better to get the facts from her first, though I admit, it seems she was less than honest… You will have to advise the Dark Lord on how best to use the Cabinet. I need just a little more time to—"

"You will continue on this suicidal path, then?"

"Severus, you know I have no choice."

"You have every choice! You made me make that Vow! I would never have!"

"Severus, please. Now is not the time. You have already made the Vow. When the time comes, I trust you will keep your word." Dumbledore gazed at Fawkes, who was perched comfortably on one leg. "So Draco succeeds, at least partly. He was always talented, yes."

"Talented, and allowed to be mislead by the adults who surrounded him," rejoined Severus. "I have never found myself so much in agreement with Miss Granger as I have today. You have practically _allowed _Potter to grow a big head, and now Draco stumbles into trouble, you allow him, too, to continue merrily along!"

"I can only do so much, Severus" Dumbledore sighed, "and both of them will need their self-confidence, I think."

An image of Draco's blood merging with the bathroom water filled Severus' head. Then he saw Draco's pale, cautious face, his entire countenance betraying his great fear that he had actually killed the Granger girl. Self-confidence, indeed. Severus felt in that moment that perhaps, if it were not for the infuriating man before him, he would have been a lot nicer to whole generations of Hogwarts students. "I have work to do before Miss Granger's Occlumency lessons," he hissed as he stood up. He excused himself.

.

* * *

.

Hermione knocked carefully on the door.

"Come in, Miss Granger," she heard Snape drawl.

Hermione stepped into Snape's office, glancing around at the vials.

"As I examined your schoolbag this afternoon," Snape began, "I noticed that you seem to depend heavily on your books. Carting them around to Quidditch games even, it seems. Were you planning on doing some Potions reading while at the game, I wonder?"

"I…" Hermione stopped. "I simply found that book, Professor. It… Have you looked at it? The discussions were very interesting. I found the previous owner's notes on brewing times and different cuts of roots most enlightening and I…" her eagerness subsided as she observed Snape's face.

"By previous owner perhaps you mean Potter?" Snape continued. "No, perhaps Potter is the _current _owner, and you are merely borrowing the book?"

"I…" Hermione realized it was no use. She simply sat there.

Snape eyed her carefully, and then resumed his lecturing tone. "Books will not help you in the study of Occlumency, Miss Granger. Like Potions, it is a subject that reveals itself only to those of talent and experience. Some studentswill simply never be able to master this skill."

"I understand, Professor." Hermione said.

"Very good, Granger, now prepare yourself. Look into my eyes. When I cast the spell, clear your mind." Snape said.

With a deep breath, Hermione willed herself to look her professor in the eyes. "Legilimens!" he cast.

The day's many events rushed back at her. _She was in the Room of Requirement, wand pointed at Malfoy, who was so threatening, even bound up in ropes and leaned uncomfortably against a stack of broken odd objects. She was at the game, shivering. Then, she was walking with her dinner over to the Hospital Wing to look at her two happily dozing best friends. She sat at her desk, wanting to tell someone something about everything that had happened to her today. She was writing in her diary on her conflicted feelings about Harry's Potions book… No! He couldn't see that. Harry using his Potions book in Slughorn's class. Harry reporting to them, white-faced, about Sectumsempra…_

"Well, well." Snape looked very pleased.

"Please, professor," Hermione said. "I…"

"Lucky for Potter his friends will cover for him," Snape suddenly looked furious. "Clear your mind, Miss Granger. Clear it! Legilimens!"

_Harry winning Felix Felices, Harry trying to track down Slughorn. Harry explaining about the memories Dumbledore… No, she couldn't think about that. She… she could think about not thinking at all! Maybe concentration could block out all other thoughts? Focus, Hermione, on not thinking. What does it mean to think? What does it mean to not think?_

Hermione felt a nudge, a magical nudge urging her back into the rush of feelings that would bring more memories. She resisted. This wasn't so hard, was it? What had Harry been complaining about? But at the thought of Harry, the magical nudge intensified. Harry came rushing back into her head.

_Harry, white-faced again with guilt, suspecting that he had attacked Mr. Weasley in the Ministry of Magic. Harry, surreptitiously watching Ginny make out with Dean Thomas. Harry's blank face when he encountered her in the empty classroom after the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match… Ron kissing with Lavender, Ron pumping his fists after the latest miraculous save, Ron laughing as the Gryffindors chanted, "Weasley is our king!", Ron joking about Snape's hair… Snape! Blank thoughts. _

Or thought itself? Perhaps she could simply actively focus her mind on something unrelated… Did it become simply a match of willpower, then? Like the Imperius, in a way… Hermione breathed out.

The pressure subsided. "Very well, Miss Granger. An interesting tactic. Indeed, concentration is the best way to counter Legilimency. The form that you are exercising, however, is quite dangerous. As I demonstrated, thoughts can transform quickly. Though intense focus will allow you to partially block a Legilimens, your thoughts themselves are treacherous; the mind is a complex thing; it cannot simply be understood. When you empty your mind, the mind's many layers serve to confuse an invader. In contrast, your thoughts link naturally between connected memories in your mind. To an invader, they may be the only true guide. Again. Keep your mind empty. When you must, you may default to focusing on your thoughts. _Legilimens!_"

_Blankness. _

_Perhaps she should try combining this with meditation?…Mum and Dad wearing the large beaded necklaces they had bought near the monastery in Tibet, Mum saying how peaceful she felt after the meditation lesson they had… meditation! Right. _

_Blankness._

Hermione maintained her meditation state, magically bolstering it with slight shields, for what seemed an eternity, until a sudden pain filled Hermione's head. The pressure subsided.

"Eat."

Hermione opened her eyes to see Snape holding out some more of the chocolate from this afternoon.

"Do you feel any pain in your leg still, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, but only when I walk, Professor."

Snape frowned. "Stay here," he commanded.

He returned with two vials. "You will take two measures of this," he held up vial containing a bright red liquid "every morning for the next week. And apply one measure of this to the area in question," at this he held up a vial containing a darker red viscous mixture, "when the pain wakes you up at nights, or bothers you greatly during the day."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said.

"We shall resume your lesson tomorrow night. Now, seeing as you claim to be the current owner of this stolen Potions book, I suggest you help me grade this stack of first-year essays."

.

* * *

.

It was nearly midnight when Hermione exited Snape's office and walked down the dungeons hallway, aware of every echoing step she took. She had so infrequently wandered these halls at night, unlike Harry, who seemed to default into impetuous action whenever sleep evaded him. Even when patrolling as a prefect, she normally stayed on the upper floors of the castle. Patrolling the dungeons, especially these parts, fell to the Slytherin prefects. After the Legilimency lesson, she had helped Snape grade the first-years' Defense essays, feeling a little sorry for him. He was a man of great impatience, and yet he was forever teaching amateurs. Though he was foul-tempered and quite cruel, Hermione found herself admiring his great skill; he was actually quite a clear teacher.

The lesson seemed to have gone well. Even the subsequent detention hadn't been so bad… He had seemed to lighten up as she helped him work through the stacks, finally giving her a curt, "Well done, good night. Dismissed." Would wonders never cease—a compliment—from Snape!

As she deliberated over why Professors Snape and Dumbledore both felt it best to allow Malfoy to continue on his project, a great pity for Malfoy overcame her. Imagine having the Dark Lord breathe down your neck… It was almost as bad as having Dumbledore and the weight of the whole wizarding world on your shoulders. Well, not quite. But no wonder Malfoy had been crying in the bathroom when Harry found him. He had most likely felt guilty about Katie Bell, too… something else Harry had been right about. But why use would Malfoy have for a cursed necklace? It made no sense.

As Hermione started up the stairs, she heard footsteps coming down. Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson came around the landing. They must have been patrolling. Parkinson clutched at Malfoy's arm.

"If it isn't the Mudblood prefect," Parkinson sneered. "Did you get lost? The Gryffindor tower is upwards, Granger."

"Good night," Hermione said curtly.

Malfoy stared at Hermione. When she met his eyes, he scowled and turned away. He crossed the landing, and then proceeded down the stairs.

"What's the matter, Draco? Don't you wanna have some fun with the Mudblood?" Parkinson asked, hurrying to catch up.

"She's just a Mudblood," Hermione heard Malfoy mutter. "Not worth our time."

"Of course not, Draco, you're so right." Their voices drifted away. Hermione could not even find it in herself to be angry at the term. Really, it was Ron who found it most offensive, having suffered his father being called a blood traitor since childhood. For Harry and Hermione, they were simply terms. Mudblood, half-blood, pure-blood… Who knew why such words, just a few variations on the same letters, had come to mean so much to so many? Five vowels, eight consonants. But—for so much of wizarding history—a world of difference between them.

.

* * *

.

Draco set aside the book, a history book on the Goblin wars. "Nox," he cast quietly.

Today had certainly been an interesting day. Good, actually, if he counted Potter being knocked in the back of his head by that oaf McLaggen, a sight he was sorry to have missed but found entertaining when it was recounted endlessly over the dinner table. For the first time in weeks, the anxiety had finally subsided, and he was able to stomach a full meal. Still, now he couldn't help but wonder if fixing the cabinet actually made his problems worse. Now the attack was certain to happen, and everyone, including Aunt Bella would be there to watch him fail when he tried to take down, that is, _kill_ Dumbledore.

His mind flitted back to the incidents of this afternoon. Snape must have taken care of Granger, because she hadn't so much as batted an eye when she saw him. Of all the people to find out, why did it have to be _her_? She was insufferable, not at all likely to be impressed, and quick with a wand, as she had shown this afternoon. He supposed that even if she had not made friends with Potter, he would still have hated her for being so gifted in class. His father would have made him hate her, as his father made him hate himself for allowing a Mudblood to beat him. Second, always second. It wasn't just Potter, was it, that always came in first. He wondered again if it was wise to trust _Severus Snape_ with anything. His aunt's words echoed in his head, "Just words, always, that Severus." But hadn't Snape vowed to protect him, on pain of death?

He was certain that the Dark Lord would call a meeting of his followers soon to plan the attack. Perhaps it would actually be twelve Death Eaters, like they had sent last year to the Ministry? Twenty-four minutes, then.

Draco deliberately blocked all thoughts of attack from his head. Now was a chance for a brief respite. He had fixed the cabinet. The worst was over, except killing Dumbledore, of course. But at least he had guaranteed that someone else would enter the castle and maybe kill the old codger for him. Or maybe Snape would compliment him to the Dark Lord when Snape inevitably finished the deed. Draco consciously drove the thought of upcoming meetings with the Dark Lord away. Maybe now he could set Pansy straight, maybe turn her attentions to Theo, or Blaise, or even Goyle? Yes, Gregory had had a crush on Pansy for ages. Daphne's little sister Astoria had been giving him the eye, and now that he had a chance, he fully intended to do something about it.

.

* * *

.

Sunday dawned on the castle.

Sleep had claimed all its inhabitants, except two. In a small, remote tower, off an inner courtyard, an old, troubled man turned a ring over and over again.

"Ariana," he sighed. "Did I wrong the boy by letting him grow up with his prejudices uncorrected? They were right, both of them. Hermione about Harry, and Severus about Draco. I've been planning for this, preparing for this ever since Harry survived that first time. But I have made so many mistakes. And what if, after all this, it is still not enough?"

And in the depths of the castle, a younger man, but one also stooped with loss, traced his finger over a picture—a much younger version of him, embracing a laughing green-eyed, red-headed beauty.

"Lily," he whispered, "What is it about Harry Potter that makes everyone protect him? You died for him. This Granger girl, she lies for him. And Dumbledore, all these years he shielded him. But no more… Dumbledore tells me the boy must die. Lily, I'm so sorry. I wish I had protected you, the way you protected him… You were my only true friend then, Lily, and yet it was I who brought about your death with my own blindness. And all these years of atonement are not enough, it seems. The boy must die. He must go to his death. Your son…your only child…he has your eyes… Lily…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."


	4. Under the Sky

**Chapter 3: Under the Sky**

_In which we meet Theo and Blaise, Draco looks at the sky, and Hermione receives a note  
_

.

.

Hermione pushed through the door and into the dark stone corridor, just managing to hold back her tears. Starting Saturday night, each of the past three days she had spent four or more hours in Snape's office, either learning more Legilimency or helping him grade papers. It was beginning to take a toll on her studies, but she didn't expect Snape would care very much. Tonight, when she requested a shorter session as Astronomy class started at midnight, he had positively chewed her out.

Once she was a few turns away from his office, she leaned back against the wall and remembered his words.

"Have you managed, Granger," he had hissed, "somewhere in that thick skull of yours, to entertain the difference between merely _knowing a lot of things _and actually _using your knowledge?_ These lessons are a matter of life and death. Your other classes pale in comparison! And you have not been practicing; the fact that we are still practicing basic Occlumentic shields proves it!"

Couldn't he see that she was trying? Apparently not. He had suddenly upped the ante and performed a much more powerful form of Legilimency in which he actively sought out memories. Searching specifically for her memories of him, he had uncovered, among the many unkind things Hermione had thought to herself about him over the years, her memory of stealing Bloomslang skin and bicorn horn from his stores second year.

Furious, he had reverted back into the bully she was beginning to forget he could be. He had attacked her mind again and again, each time searching for memories that would hurt _her_, forcing her to relive them one by one. Losing her best elementary school friend when she demonstrated how she could make flowers bloom faster by touching them. Being completely friendless first year before the troll incident. Crying in the bathroom second year after the latest run-in with the Slytherins, wondering if her hair and teeth were really that ugly. Being ignored by Harry and Ron third year first because of the Firebolt and then because they thought Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. Falling down after getting hit by Dolohov's curse in the Department of Mysteries last year and thinking that if Harry died because of this, it would all be her fault for failing to hold her man. Looking at her grandmother, resting peacefully in her coffin, hands folded neatly over that Mary Elizabeth Frye poem—do not stand at my grave and weep—and weeping anyway.

At this last memory, the tears welled up in Hermione's eyes again. She had to get herself together. She had less than five minutes to get up to the Astronomy tower now.

.

* * *

.

Draco cursed as he stepped rapidly up the dungeon corridor. Why did Astoria have to walk, giggling and arm in arm with Daphne, into the Common Room, just as he was supposed to leave for Astronomy? Now he was going to be late.

But, at least things were going swimmingly with Astoria. In fact, ever since he had finished up the Cabinet and made sure Snape fixed the Granger situation, everything had been going swimmingly. His parents had written that the Dark Lord was immensely pleased. He had begun to catch up in classes, with a little help from his once-again favorite professor. For the first time in months, he had actually been hungry at dinner. And last night, he had even slept all five hours without a single nightmare.

As he rounded the corner, Draco heard a girl sniffling. Granger was leaned against a particular dark stretch of wall, eyes shining with… tears?

What was Granger doing, crying in a dark dungeon corridor? Astonished, he stopped in front of her and said the first thing he could think of. "Granger, you're going to be late to Astronomy."

"I know, Malfoy!" she snapped. "Just leave me alone! I hate Slytherins!"

Draco was taken aback. Normally, Granger was never first to instigate. Well, this would be fun. It had been a while since Draco had the time and energy to engage in a little insult war with one of the Golden Trio.

"Fine with me, Mudblood," he shot back. "I'm not the one moping alone in the hallway. Are you crying over the Weasel? Thing is, Granger, Brown's a pureblood. You never stood a chance."

Granger practically leapt off the wall. She jabbed her wand at his throat in what seemed a very familiar position. Tears were now flowing openly down her face. She wiped ineffectually at her cheeks with the back of her other hand.

"You know, Granger," Draco drawled, glad that inside his robes, he held his wand in his fist. "I'll blame your ignorance on your Muggle heritage, because every real wizard knows proximity has nothing to do with gaining the upper hand."

He had barely begun to think, "_Levicorp_—" when his wand arm was suddenly pinned to the wall. Another blink, and she had summoned his wand. Damn it all! The second time he'd been disarmed by the same girl in one week! Well, at least she didn't remember the first time…

Granger aimed her wand point at Draco's face. "_Oculis Prolixus._"

Draco felt his eyelids peel back and his eyes stung from their increased exposure to the cold dungeon air. He began to notice little minute details everywhere, like the dust that kept flowing into the torches, riding along the airwaves. Granger tucked his wand back into his frozen fist, and then stepped back. She began to walk away.

"Maybe you would be happier, Malfoy," came her voice from down the corridor, "if only you would open your eyes.

.

* * *

.

His hands were finally released from the wall. Gripping his wand hard, Draco pointed it directly at his eyes.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Draco growled. "_Finite Incantatem!_" He blinked, and then opened his eyes again. He could still see the dust. Morgana's lover!

Draco bounded up the stairs, three at a time, hoping to catch the Mudblood, ask her just _what in Merlin's name _she had wanted to accomplish with that spell back there, and then exact his revenge. At the top of the stairs, he felt dizzy again. He was being bombarded with visual information; everything stood out in rare clarity. Jagged edges on the stone walls which cast long shadows over each other. The individual threads in all the tapestries, and the brush strokes on the paintings. The lights, everywhere, illuminating the castle in some sort of glow. It would have been beautiful, if it wasn't all so _damn _much. Astronomy would be hell; he'd have to stick his eye to the special telescopes they had to share and see all the bits of dust and grime other people had left there. If _only _Sinistra had let him bring his own from home… Well, he'd Scourgify the damn thing if it came to that.

Slowing down, he came round to the top of the Astronomy tower just as Professor Sinistra was saying, "Looks like we're missing both Granger and Malfoy today, so Macmillan, Zabini it looks like you'll have to work together. No, Zabini, I'm sorry. I really do prefer for you to work with someone else. Yes, Patil?"

"Morag and I were hoping you could lecture a little on the gravitational effect of Jupiter's magical field on Earth's."

"Oh, yes, I did promise you to talk about that last week, didn't I… Ah, Malfoy…"

"I had to stop some students from sneaking out of the common room after hours, Professor," Draco quickly lied. It was common procedure. Slytherins always covered for each other; if Sinistra was suspicious, any number of underclassmen would plead guilty to considering an after hours trip to the Kitchens. But since they only considered, no House Points would be removed.

Sinistra smiled. "Alright then. Well, I'm sorry, but it looks like you'll have to work by yourself as Zabini is sharing a telescope with Macmillan today. "

Draco strode to the telescope set up in farthest corner and immediately Scourgified the glass. Pressing his eye to the glass, he suddenly gasped. He could really _see _the stars tonight, and, focusing his telescope on Proxima Centauri, he could even see wisps of gas…

Pulling away, he summoned a quill and scroll from his room, and then sighed. All school year Blaise had been helping him along, since Draco barely had time to complete homework for important classes like Potions and Defense. There was no way he would complete the star chart tonight.

"…so, if you will turn your telescopes to Io and cast the Field Spell, you should actually be able to observe Io's shielding properties…"

Draco noticed a flicker by the staircase. He watched as Granger emerged quickly from the staircase, looking as if she had tried to freshen up in the bathroom and failed miserably.

"…oh, Miss Granger. A little tardy, I'm afraid. Five points from Gryffindor."

Granger looked to be on the verge of tears again. "Sorry, Professor," she mumbled. Draco smirked. Of course the honest little Gryffindor wouldn't lie. Prefect privileges were really wasted on the whole lot of Gryffindors.

"If you will join Malfoy over there, we are discussing the gravitational effect of Jupiter's magical fields on other planets..."

Draco tuned out Sinistra's pleasant voice and watched as Granger reluctantly made her way over to him. When she reached the telescope, she faced him squarely, took a deep breath, and then aimed her wand point at his eyes. "_Oculis Expedio._"

She turned away from him immediately, pulled a quill and scroll out of her bag, and began taking notes. Draco caught sight of neat, ordered print. Typical Muggle handwriting, he thought.

"Granger," he whispered. "This isn't over."

She nodded tiredly and didn't look in his direction. Deciding that it would be best not to antagonize her too much, because that way she would stay near and he could copy off her scroll, Draco refrained from continuing.

When Sinistra had finally stopped answering the Ravenclaw girls' questions, she asked them to provide a detailed map of the Argo Navis constellation, paying special attention to Canopus and its surrounding stars. Granger turned to the telescope, preparing to turn the dials downwards so they could use the southern hemisphere settings, when Draco suddenly remembered how incredible Proxima Centauri had looked.

"Granger!"

She inclined her head, still avoiding his eyes.

"What was that spell—Oculis Prolixus? Do it again!"

This surprised her. She looked directly at him, eyes wide. "Why?"

"Just… Here, teach me to do it and then I'll just do it on myself."

At this, she looked wary. "No, it's fine," she said. She raised her wand. "_Oculis Prolixus!_"

Draco felt his pupils dilate. Everything on the platform suddenly looked brighter, illuminated by starlight. He looked straight into Granger's eyes, which were flecked with warm amber.

"What…" Granger paused. "What is going on?"

Draco had to suppress the oncoming grin. He was going to _show _her just how useful her little spell was. He gestured at the telescope. "Look at this."

He watched as she bent carefully towards the eyepiece, her curls falling forward and then bouncing, just the tiniest bit.

Granger straightened up again. "It's a red dwarf, pretty close too… Proxima Centauri?"

"Yes, but do you see… Oh." Draco suddenly came to his senses. Of course she couldn't see it; she hadn't had the charm done on her eyes. And this was _Granger_. And he was showing her… well why not? She was intelligent enough. "If you… if you use that spell on your eyes, you can see everything. It's beautiful."

Granger looked at him incredulously, and then looked down. She seemed to be mulling something over. "I… I see. That is… interesting."

Now looking him up and down, she took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry, Malfoy. I had just finished detention with Snape when I ran into you in the hall, and when you talked to me, I just completely lost it."

Granger? Detention? Ah, was that why he had seen her down in the dungeons the past three nights? But Merlin's beard! What could she have done to get herself four consecutive detentions?

Granger was still looking at him as if she expected him to mock her. Hell, she was probably hoping he would so she could feel all noble and self-righteous. Draco considered. He still needed to copy off her tonight. He gestured at the telescope. "Don't you want to see?"

Granger stared. After a few seconds, she shook herself. "Right. You… Okay, all right. Yes, I do want to see. _Oculis Prolixus!_"

Draco watched her pupils dilate. Her eyes readjusted, focusing on him blankly. Then, regaining that thoughtful look that they often held, they flicked towards the telescope. She leaned forward and pressed her eye to the eyepiece.

"Wow…" she breathed. "They should make the first years do this."

"I'm sure Sinistra would, if she knew the spell. Where did you find it? I've never even heard of a spell like that before."

Now Granger was looking at him again, as if she was unsure how to interpret his statement.

Draco considered telling her that he accepted her apology, but decided that that would end up badly, since she would probably demand one for his calling her a Mudblood, which he would not, could not apologize for. A joke, then. "But yeah, I guess I'm enjoying Astronomy class a lot more now that I've _opened my eyes_."

She was still looking at him. Right, a joke, especially one referring to their most recent altercation, did not six years of enmity unmake. Draco cast about for a _nice _thing to say, and then pressed on, "And well yeah, about losing it back there. Well, I hear Snape's not fond of Gryffindors."

He watched her blink several times, seemingly in slow motion. Her eyelashes tangled slightly with her lower lashes each time, and then curled up invitingly again. Had her skin always been so fine? Here he was, seeing the in detail the flares on Proxima Centauri and he couldn't even see the pores on her face. He followed the curve of her cheek until his eyes fell on her mouth. She was still talking. He glanced at where her lips joined at the side, and then watched intently as tiny wrinkles formed and reformed with every word she spoke…

"Malfoy!"

"Sorry," Draco said. "Just, just looking at the world."

Granger suddenly bit her lip. "I don't look like I've been having a cry, do I?"

Draco didn't know what to say. She obviously did, but that wasn't what she wanted to hear. If this were any other night, he'd tell her yes and wait to see an unhappy cloud settle behind her clear, warm eyes, but tonight he also needed Granger to stay near.

He opened his mouth, but Granger beat him to it.

"I do, don't I?" she sighed. "It's all right. Being friends with Harry and Ron so many years you know, it teaches you to read boys. You looked like you didn't know how to answer the question without hurting my feelings."

Draco nearly laughed. Maybe that was how _her _simpleton friends worked, but it wasn't how any of his friends worked. Now what to say back?

He finally settled on a response. "Yeah, I learned from Pansy that with girls, the truth isn't always the best answer."

Granger eyed him, and then asked, "Why are you being so nice today?"

"Well," Draco drawled, laughing inside at the irony of what he was going to say, since she would most likely take it as a joke, "I need you to help me fill out my star chart. The only constellation that I ever bothered to learn in detail is Draco."

Granger let out a great laugh, throwing her head back and beaming into the sky, the beautiful night sky. Draco looked up too, picking out _his _constellation. Tonight he could see every star, and if he concentrated, he could even pick out how each individual one brightened and dimmed. Flares from centuries ago, only just now reaching him. He looked back down at Granger.

She was looking right back at him. "Well, you're in luck," she said. "Because Canopus was the first star I ever picked out. I was three and we—my family, that is—were in the Ivory Coast… well, second brightest star and all that, you know. It was my favorite for years."

.

* * *

.

Draco turned in his scroll, glad to be finished already. Hell, even though he had to share the eyepiece with a Mudblood, working with Granger was definitely better than working with Blaise.

Sinistra glanced over both their scrolls. "Excellent, both of you. Granger, these are the most precise calculations on distance I've ever seen from a student. Malfoy, excellent demonstration on the Scorpius-Centaurus Association's formation. Five points to Gryffindor and Slytherin."

They returned to their telescope, collecting their things. Granger turned to him and grinned, actually grinned. For the fourth time that night, she pointed her wand directly at his face. "_Oculis Expedio_."

"Sideways, then up," he said, pulling out his wand before she could undo the spell on herself. "Is that it?"

A hesitation. "…No," she said, eyeing his wand. She swallowed tightly. "At the turn, you'll feel some magical resistance, so you have to power through it."

Draco pointed his wand directly at her eyes, which, pressed open as they were, looked even more innocent than usual tonight. He couldn't believe she was just going to let him perform a spell on her, after everything he'd ever called her, after the Inquisitorial Squad last year, after what Potter had probably told her he suspected. He wondered how she would be reacting if she could remember what she had discovered Saturday. "_Oculis Expedio!_"

She was exactly right; the magical resistance surprised him. No wonder the spell wasn't common; judging from the Counter-Spell alone, it was probably N.E.W.T.-level. And returning things to their natural state was always easier, Draco knew.

Granger blinked, then smiled. "Exactly. If you want to read about it and the other variations, there's a vision charm book in the library. Madame Pince suggested it to me once."

A cough from behind Draco distracted the two of them. Theo and Blaise had both finished. Already, Macmillan's head could be seen bobbing down the steps with Abbott's and Bones'. Millicent, who was Theo's partner, lingered at the door, waiting for the three Slytherin boys.

"If you're done chatting up the Mudblood," Blaise intoned softly, as Sinistra was still packing up the telescopes behind them, "we're going down to the Kitchens."

Granger stiffened, but then glanced at Draco. "Going to the Kitchens after hours? I'd deduct points, but luckily for you, Malfoy here knows a lot about Canopus, so I owe him one."

She walked away, joining up with Patil, MacDougal, Li and Turpin at the staircase entrance.

Blaise sniggered. Theo let out a low whistle and then pounded Draco on the back. "My man, Draco Malfoy! Declawed the lioness, have you? What did you do? Impress her with all you knowledge about gravitational _attraction_?"

Draco couldn't believe it. Had Theo traded personalities with Blaise? Hoping to kill the conversation, he said flatly, "Good one, Theo."

But Theo had other ideas. "I think she was _flirting_ with you back there. You had better watch out for some stray curses from the Weasel!"

This statement, much below Theo's normal quality of conversation, set Blaise off again. Blaise propped his elbows on top of the balustrade, and leaned back, gasping for air. Draco turned back to Theo, and found his friend guffawing, in a good imitation of Crabbe. Really, what had gotten into Theo?

Finally regaining some composure, Blaise said, "Good to know you can still turn on the charm when you need to. Did you need little extra _help_ with your star chart tonight?"

Beneath the innuendo lay a barb. Blaise had made it clear that he found Draco's predicament pathetic, and that he didn't respect Draco's new position in the Dark Lord's circle in the least. Every Astronomy class was an embarrassment; Blaise was an old friend and though he still let Draco copy off him, he had been less and less accommodating as the year wore on. But Draco was too distracted to respond properly; he was still busy trying to figure out what Granger had to gain by telling his friends that he actually knew anything about Argo Navis. Well, actually, after today's session, he knew quite a lot.

"Say," Theo broke in, sounding more like his normal self, "did I just see Granger let you point your wand at her face? And then let you cast some sort of spell on her eyes?"

"Yeah, you know Gryffindors. Naïve little fuckers." Draco said offhandedly, hoping the whole conversation would be dismissed. "You think we could get that crying elf Winky to get us some Pumpkin Pasties? I think they keep a stash down there…"

.

* * *

.

Hermione climbed the last staircase to Gryffindor Tower, stunned. _What had happened tonight?_

When she first apologized to Malfoy, it was out of the fairness which her conscience dictated she operate under. After all, it was the second time she had attacked him unprovoked in a week! Ah, but he is a _Death Eater_, a little voice had reminded her up in the tower right before she apologized, but she had brushed it aside. She doubted, from Malfoy's actions on Saturday, that he was the same mode of Death Eater as his father and aunt. And though he had demonstrated before his despicable beliefs, that didn't justify misbehavior on her part. Although what he said tonight about Ron had really hit home, _she_ had started it. She knew not to expect any change in his behavior, but Hermione did believe in being the bigger "man" sometimes.

But then Malfoy had surprised her. Instead of jumping on her apology, he had simply looked at her and gestured at the telescope again. He must really have wanted to share the sight with someone. Or maybe he was feeling sorry for poisoning her on Saturday?

All in all, Hermione mused, he was a much better partner than Ernie. Ernie hated Astronomy, but had continued on out of a desire to please his grandfather, who had been a great Astronomer in his time. Malfoy genuinely seemed to enjoy Astronomy, even if he wasn't so good at it. Well, the star chart portion of it anyway. Hermione had been impressed with his general Astronomy framework. Not for the first time, she wished that she had learned of her magical heritage sooner, if only so she could have started reading magical texts at an earlier age.

Hermione reached the Fat Lady and whispered the password. Without stirring, the Fat Lady murmured, "Hope he's handsome," and swung open.

Hermione smiled. The Fat Lady was really an incurable gossip. What would she say if she knew who Hermione had really been spending her time with?

Well, Hermione considered, handsome was one way to put it. Both Parvati and Lavender had harbored crushes on Malfoy back third year, even sympathizing with him when he complained about his arm. Hermione could not see it then; all she could think of whenever she saw him was Buckbeak. But this year, Malfoy had barely bullied anyone at all, save for kicking in Harry's nose when Harry spied on him. Which hardly counted. Hermione was beginning to think that maybe he had lost interest in his old habits.

She supposed that he had grown into himself a little. If you could look past his posturing and arrogance, his pure-blood fanaticism, his great—albeit lessening—penchant for bullying, his general disregard for the morality of anything, and of course, his being a Death Eater, then, and only then, you might see that his new hairstyle suited him, that his pointy chin was not quite so pointy anymore, and that an understated type of elegance, an effect that even the growing dark circles couldn't undo, hung around his slim, fast-growing frame.

Yes, and now Hermione cringed at a memory: For a moment, after Malfoy's half-apology for calling her a Mudblood—let's face it, that's what it really was—she had thought that Malfoy was _staring at her lips_. And in that moment he had looked so intent that he—Malfoy!—had looked well, _almost_ handsome. But then she had realized it was only because she had been crying that he kept looking at her face. He could probably see the traces of dried tears still lining her face, with that spell on him.

That spell had really been something. No wonder Malfoy had not been able to resist sharing it with someone else, even if that someone was Hermione. He had probably wanted to learn it so he could use it the next time they had Astronomy. Hermione smiled again; she would certainly be using it next class. It was one of those spells she had tried only once, tucked under her covers with her curtains drawn shut around her. But being stuck under her covers, she hadn't really gotten to experience it. It was one thing to really see the difference between your two hundred and six hundred thread count sheets, and another to stand at the top of the Astronomy tower, and really see the difference, with your bare eyes, between red dwarfs and red giants.

_Allows eyes to focus on many levels at once, disregarding lens' natural preference for a narrower range of focus_, she had read in vision charms book. _Enhances vision, allowing detailed observation from great distances. Magnification varies, but has been reported up to levels in the 10,000 times. Often produces a so-called transcendent experience._

It really had been transcendent, Hermione reflected. Canopus was beautiful. She only wished that she could have seen it tonight without the telescope. Her vision had been so good that a couple times when Malfoy had fixed his eyes on her while she was explaining how to deduce the distances, she could practically see the entire Canis Major reflected in his grey eyes. Scratch that. While he had discussed with relish the star-formation clouds within the Scorpious-Centaurus Association, she had been able to make out most of the northern constellations reflected against the pale grey of his eyes. An enigmatic, impenetrable grey, lined with blue streaks, and dotted—tonight only, she supposed—with the night sky's stars.

.

* * *

.

Disillusioned, wand in one hand, and two pumpkin pasties the other, Draco crept out of the Slytherin common room. Filch never really patrolled down here (good thing too, Draco sniggered, because there were a lot of Slytherins who would be happy to curse the Squib), but you never knew who could be wandering the halls. Sneaking back from the kitchens one time fourth year, Draco, Blaise and Goyle had run into the Durmstrang headmaster Karkaroff and Moody, no _Crouch_, having a tense conversation in the hallway. Both had been furious at having been overheard. The Madman, a nickname that accurately described both Crouch and the actual Mad-eye, had given them two hellish detentions. Draco shivered in recollection.

As he crept down the deserted halls, Draco decided that he should really trade patrols with Macmillan. That way he could start his little study dates with Snape earlier. After his little emergency on Saturday, Draco had decided to enlist Professor Snape's help in catching up with his studies. He was indebted to Snape anyway; he had already placed the bet—the bet that Snape was _genuinely_ helping him. Now he was merely making good on the terms; he was claiming the service that the man had promised Draco's mother. It helped, certainly, that not a single mocking word had come from his Professor in the days since Saturday on Draco's being Disarmed by a Gryffindor, and a Mudblood at that. Perhaps, childless, Snape harbored a little affection for him?

Together, they had stayed up the past few evenings until just before dawn, Draco pausing every once in a while to ask consult on Snape on the subtleties of mental imagery during nonverbal Transfiguration, or the possibilities of adding just a few pieces of Wiggen Tree bark to the Wiggenweld Potion. Draco was beginning to think that he ought to have spent most of his Hogwarts' career in Snape's office, the two of them doing work side by side. He had never appreciated how much work their Professors really had; in the wee morning hours when Draco normally left to catch a few hours of sleep, Snape was normally still pouring over students' quizzes and scrolls, or the next day's lesson plans.

At Snape's office, he knocked softly.

No answer came. Draco had given up and shrugged, glad to see the man actually slept sometimes, when the door swung open to reveal Snape. He quickly tapped himself with his wand.

"Draco."

What was it with the man and saying his name like that? What exactly could Draco be expected to say back? "Professor Snape."

The imitation tactic didn't work very well. Snape continued to look at him impassively.

Draco pushed again at his pride, trying to tuck it away. This was an occurrence that seemed to be increasing in frequency; up in the Astronomy tower, for example, when he'd had to bite back a number of remarks so he could continue getting help from Granger. But then, he thought, after a while he had almost forgotten that she wasn't just one of the Slytherin girls. She was clever, quick, and well-informed. It had almost been like talking to Theo.

Snape coughed. Draco started. Right. He cleared his throat and glanced down to complete the impression of embarrassment. "I need more help."

"Ah. Yes. Please come in." Snape turned around, his cloak sweeping out impressively behind him.

Snape gestured at a small desk he had placed next to his own. "More Transfiguration tonight?"

"Yes... Professor McGonagall… When I turned in the essay on mental imagery, she told me that she'd be willing to accept any makeup work I could complete before Easter for three-quarters credit."

"Makeup work?"

"I…" Draco cursed his luck. Of course Snape would ask. "I haven't turned in any Transfiguration homework since mid-October."

But Snape must have already known, because not a single feature on his face moved. Sometimes Draco wondered what teachers said to each other about him. Then, nodding, Snape said, "Get to it, then."

Before his professor could retreat behind the mountain of scrolls he was currently working through, Draco held out his hand. "Pumpkin pasty?"

For a second, Snape looked affronted at the offer. Then he conjured up a napkin and took both pasties out of Draco's hand.

.

* * *

.

"Where've you been, Hermione?"

Poor Harry. She'd only gotten to talk to him once since he'd been released from the Hospital Wing after taking that club to the head. Since Ron's face was still stuck to Lavender's half the time, and she was spending nearly all of her "free time" with Snape, he must have been quite lonely.

"I'm sorry, Harry," answered Hermione, thinking quickly. "It's just… Snape caught me with your Half-Blood Prince book on Monday night. He was so angry, he gave me detention for the whole month!"

Harry's glass of pumpkin juice slipped out of his hand and teetered for a second before settling. "What! How?"

"It just slipped out of my bag!"

"You had my book?"

Hermione blushed, cutting at her steak furiously. She plopped a piece in her mouth to give her some time to invent something. How could she have been careless enough not to come up with a proper back story! "Well you know, you mentioned how you needed a memory from Slughorn, and I thought that you might need the book back…"

"But I thought you hated the book."

Hermione plowed on with her story, inventing as she went. "Yeah, but…well, Monday night I realized that sometimes we need to prioritize. Slughorn's memory is important. So I stopped by the Room of Requirement to pick it out. But then Snape caught me! He was furious! He thinks that it's mine, though, so you're clear."

For a second while she had been talking, Harry's face had tightened. At the last sentence, the tension flowed out of him. Harry hugged her. "Thanks for doing that. A whole month of detention. I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"No," Hermione felt guilt swoop in her stomach at Harry's easy acceptance of her lies. "It's my fault you can't even get at the book anymore…"

Hermione felt a slight nudge at her right. Ginny sank into the seat next to Hermione and groaned, "Double Defense with the Slytherins. Why can't Dumbledore just make sure we're always paired with Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw or something?"

"Wait till you reach sixth year," Ron muttered from across the table while helping himself to two large scoops of mashed potatoes. "Think Parkinson's in every one of my classes…"

Hermione smiled in amusement. What would they say if they knew she had to share a telescope with Malfoy for four hours last night?

"Won-Won!" Lavender fairly screamed when she and Parvati came in the Great Hall, giggling from Trelawney's latest prophecy in Divination. "I heard the most exciting thing in Divination today."

Ginny made a face and whispered, "Won-Won! I looked in my crystal ball and guess what I saw! The two of us kissing in the common room!"

Hermione laughed. Pleased at the effect of her joke, Ginny continued, lowering her voice just a tad, "But Lav-Lav! That's what you foresaw yesterday in the tea leaves!"

Seeing Ginny and Hermione whispering and giggling, Harry sighed and turned to his left, to talk with Seamus and Dean instead.

Hermione noted to herself that she really had to talk to Harry later, but since Ginny was here, she whispered back, "So how are things with Dean?"

Ginny let out a frustrated sound. "You know how he is. Dean's such a decent guy, but ever since I got mad at him that last time, he's just been tiptoeing on eggshells. At least he's not on the Quidditch team anymore…"

How many weeks ago was it that Ginny had pulled Luna and Hermione into Myrtle's bathroom to avoid Dean? Had it started then?

"Shit," Ginny said. "I let Luna borrow my book and she still has it. I'm going to run over there right now. Watch my spot!"

Hermione nodded, now wondering Harry had never really clicked with Seamus and Dean, despite they're being perfectly nice. Nicer than Ron, in fact, she thought bitterly.

"Back!" Ginny slipped back into he seat. "Hermione, did something happen between you and Malfoy?"

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts. Had Ginny somehow find out about Saturday's incident? "What?"

"I saw that he was looking at you when I just walked in. And just now, when I walked back from the Ravenclaw table, I saw him staring at you again."

Hermione remembered again how threatening Malfoy had been in the Room of Requirement. Striving to keep her voice steady, she said, "It's nothing, I'm sure. We just had to share a telescope in Astronomy last night."

But Hermione threw a look over her shoulder anyway, and immediately her eyes met Malfoy's, which were burning with pronounced dislike. He seemed to allow himself one moment to look at her that way, before the look vanished and was replaced by a glaze that washed first over his eyes, then his whole face. He motioned to Crabbe and Goyle, who stood immediately. The three of them left the Great Hall.

His control over his facial expressions was stunning. She closed her eyes. In her mind, she could see his grey eyes burning with dislike again. Of course he disliked her; he was a Death Eater… Hermione shuddered.

Ginny gave her a pitying look, misinterpreting her shudder. "That's terrible…"

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

.

* * *

.

The students were hungry. That was why Severus hated this class period. It was clear that Granger was the only student not thinking about dinner.

Luckily, most of them still retained the fear he had instilled in them that in their very first Potions class. He stood.

The class fell silent.

"I have revised your essays on variations to the Shield Charm. Those of you who received a T, which is most of you, I expect edits by our next class, which is Monday. If not, I will be pleased to read your dreadful work out loud."

Severus flicked his wand at his tables, and the scrolls stacked there distributed themselves to their authors.

"As I cannot continue lecturing on the Shield Charm until you are finished with your edits, we will have dueling in class today. I will be assigning partners."

Half the class shifted eagerly, but the other half, including Potter, Granger, Theo and Draco, looked apprehensive. Rather clever of them. Snape read out his list of pairings, rejoicing in the many awkward situations he could create. It was really too easy, riling up the teenagers. He wrapped up his list. "…Nott and Macmillan. Weasley and Corner. Potter and Thomas. Brown and Parkinson. Granger and Malfoy."

Both of these last two shot him veiled looks of surprise as the class filed out the door, heading to the Great Hall. Draco's was mixed, briefly, with anger. Severus smirked inwardly. Served the two of them right for keeping him to all odd hours of the night. Yes, this was much better than having Potter pair with Draco and Granger pair with Brown. Although that would certainly have been entertaining, Brown was simply no match for Granger, and any match between Potter and Draco would disintegrate too quickly into dangerous spells. Then Severus would be forced to intervene.

But the match between Potter and Thomas was simply genius; Potter would have to go easy on his friend, but it would be hard for him to contain his jealousy over the youngest Weasley. And Granger and Draco would provide the best match of all. Though Severus hated to admit it, Potter was definitely the most advanced student in the class. In a life-and-death situation, Potter also stood a better chance than his classmates, surviving on pure adrenaline. Still, removed from such tense situations, Granger and Draco were a close second, if one discounted Theo, who was talented but lazy. And Severus had observed the going-ons of the students during lunch today; he had not missed the final interaction between Draco and the Gryffindor girl. He would be watching this final match very carefully indeed.

But Severus had no chance to watch them start their match as Longbottom immediately lost his wand to Zabini. Really, how had the boy had managed to pass his Defense O.W.L.S.?

.

* * *

.

This was just rich. Some deity was trying to make sure his life revolved around Granger. Draco seethed. At lunch, when Blaise had noticed the direction of Draco's gaze, he had found cause to bring up Draco's "flirtation" with the Mudblood, and the whole table had been shrieking with laughter, led by an overenthusiastic Pansy. Now he would have to duel Granger and it wouldn't end well. He wasn't sure that he could best her, but he knew that he wouldn't hear the end of it from the other Slytherins if he didn't. Draco watched the corner of Snape's mouth lift up in the tiniest smirk, and wondered what Snape found so entertaining about pairing him up with Granger. Sure, she was one of the Golden Trio, but if that were the case, wouldn't Potter or Weasley have made more sense?

Granger tiredly flicked her wrist, wand snapping into her palm. "Malfoy," she said, and then bowed.

"Granger," he replied, extending his wand arm and bowing as well.

Meeting her eyes as he raised his head again, he was surprised to see that even without the Oculis Prolixus charm, he could see the amber specks in her eyes just fine. But then a flash of red materialized in front of him, and there was no more time to think about her eyes.

.

* * *

.

Forty minutes later, Draco tried to discreetly wipe the sweat off his forehead, feeling the eyes of his classmates on him. Only a few pairs of students were still dueling; Snape had allowed the students who had already won or lost the choice of either starting another duel, or retiring to the edges of the Hall and watching the other students duel. Most chose the latter, and were either watching the entertaining duel between Brown and Parkinson, which featured high hit ratios and a high number of insults, or himself and Granger. Those students who watched the two of them turned their heads from side to side as if watching a tennis match; as the available space had increased, both Draco and his opponent had chosen to keep their distance from the other, to maximize their available reaction time.

Granger had finally begun to repeat spells, Malfoy realized, as another Stunner came rushing towards him, traversing the length of the Great Hall with great speed.

"_Protego_!" he cried. "Another Stunner? Really, Granger?" Waving his wand, he added silently, _Serpensortia_! A very handsome green serpent appeared in mid-air and quickly headed towards Granger, mouth opened wide and fangs snapping.

He saw her widen, as if in recollection, but then she countered, "_Confringo_!" The snake burst into flames. "Well, I almost caught you unaware, didn't I?" She smiled at him. What, did she think they were friends now?

Draco cursed as a blindfold settled over his eyes. He vanished it, just in time to see a white curse sailing towards him. He thanked his Quidditch reflexes when he managed to sidestep it. It crashed into the wall and a large black burn appeared on the castle wall.

He needed a spell which could not simply be blocked or ducked. Flicking his wand at a small bench so that it splintered into pieces which floated up into the air, he cast, "_Deprimo_!" Before him, a wind formed, swirling the pieces round. It was still for a momentum before it began hurtling towards Granger, gaining momentum as it went. This earned him a gasp from the many spectators; other students were now filling in early for dinner.

But there was no time to watch take in their expressions of awe, because the Jelly-Brain Jinx was coming at him through the wind. He sputtered out the counter-jinx just as it reached him; the glowing purple beam of light disappeared into his wand.

When he had recovered, Draco looked up to see that Granger had tripped. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw a stray (or perhaps not-so-stray?) spell from Brown, who was dueling Pansy about twenty feet to their left, headed right towards Granger. He turned his full attention back to Granger. She was still moaning on the ground! Merlin! Why was she still sitting there? Draco tried to reverse the direction of his wind, seeing that Granger had now been hit with Petrificus Totalus, but the pieces propelled by his wind were already traveling too fast. He only managed to slow them down. He looked wildly around for Snape, and saw his professor start forward with his wand in hand.

Suddenly, Granger snapped out of it and Vanished the wind, and everything in it, completely. Draco was awed. She had managed to free herself from Petrificus Totalus, using a nonverbal spell without the use of wand motion, and then immediately Vanished more than a hundred separate pieces moving at great speed.

Merlin's beard, she was good! He had better a get a move on if he didn't want to deal with any more of Blaise's jeers about flirting with the Mudblood tonight. Deciding to attack while she was still recovering, he pointed his wand, and thought, _Conjunctivitis_!

Draco let his eyes follow his spell, which surged forward with pleasing speed. Catching his breath, he finally managed to discreetly wave his wand at himself, so that he looked refreshed and clean once again. Returning his attention to the duel, he looked across at Granger to see how she was reacting. But Granger was standing still. She was looking forward, but was clearly unaware of the curse sailing towards her. Then she staggered backwards. Draco watched, horrified, as his curse just barely clipped her forehead as she fell down.

**.**

* * *

_._

"According to my tests, Miss Granger has slept a total of fifteen hours in the past four days, and this after her accident on Saturday! I know that…" Pomfrey was really getting into her vibe.

"Accident?" Weasley quickly asked. "Hermione had an accident on Saturday?"

Potter looked uncertain. "I don't think so, I mean. We were both in here…"

Severus seethed at Poppy's mistake. But she continued, unaware of what she had let slip, "…you, Severus, may sleep only three hours a night, but it is absolutely unacceptable! I should never have discharged her to you!"

Potter started at this last sentence. "Hermione was discharged to you?"

Severus didn't know what to say. He didn't know what lie the girl had told her friends to cover up their little lessons.

Potter seemed to find the silence most displeasing, as he would. "It's all your fault! She hasn't been sleeping because she's been too busy going to detention with you!"

At this, Weasley looked confused. "Hermione's been having detention with Snape?"

Potter glared at Severus. "Every school night and Saturday afternoon for the next month!"

So the girl hadn't told Weasley. Good for her; the boy clearly didn't deserve her. Rounding on Weasley, Severus said sardonically, "And you call yourself friends?"

Severus felt pleased when Weasley's ears turned bright red. He opened his mouth, looking like a fish, and then recovered. "Well it was you who paired her with bloody Malfoy! You bastard Malf—"

"Language, Weasley," Severus heard the sulking blonde boy drawl from his corner of the room, voiced raised so he could be heard over Weasley's continued ranting. "I'll have you know that it was a dueling class. In case you're too dull to understand what that…"

"—oy! What were you thinking? The Conjunctivitis Curse is—"

"—dueling involves occasionally casting spells at your oppon—"

"_Silencio_." The headmaster's voice sounded in the infirmary. "Harry, Ron, I think you would not like to miss dinner?" He flicked his wand again to undo the Silencing Charm.

"But we want to stay with her!" Potter said stubbornly at the same time that Weasley said, "Why does Malfoy get to stay?"

"You may visit her after dinner," was the firm reply.

Dumbledore waited until Potter and Weasley were out the door. "The uproar in the Great Hall was enormous." He glanced at Draco. "They say you attacked her with the Conjunctivitis Curse."

A protective feeling came over Severus. Did the man mean to accuse Draco or not? Albus could be so infuriating sometimes. He said, curtly. "Yes, but it was not his fault. Granger was actually a victim to both Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson."

A sudden scratch sounded from the Draco's corner, indicating that he had gotten up rather quickly, probably in surprise. The boy now made his way over to Severus' side.

"Brown and Parkinson?" Apparently Dumbledore was surprised too.

Stupid girls. He had been so distracted admonishing the girls for poor aim (actually, remarkable aim, he had come to realize as he lectured at them) that he had completely missed how unresponsive the Granger girl had been after her miraculous save. "Yes, Parkinson initiated the problem by casting a Tripping Jinx at the girl," Severus explained. Draco emitted the slightest sound of understanding. "Then Brown hit her with a Petrificus Totalus. If Draco hadn't slowed his own attack, it would have hit her before anyone had time to save her. I was going to step in, but Granger actually broke the Petrificus Totalus and managed to vanish the wind and everything it contained just moments before it would hit her."

Dumbledore straightened with surprise. Yes, it had really been most impressive. Snape continued, "In normal circumstances, she would probably have recovered fine, but seeing as she was physically exhausted, that last bit of magical exertion probably overwhelmed her."

"And the Conjunctivitis Curse?"

"Draco's final attack, clipped her hair just before she fell down."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very good, Draco, you may go. I need to talk to Severus alone."

Both professors watched the boy slunk out of the room.

"Lavender and Pansy attacked Hermione during the duels?"

"Stray curses, so they claim… There is no way to prove that they did it on purpose. I think, however, that in Brown's case, it is likely motivated by jealousy."

"And Pansy?"

"I am not sure."

Dumbledore nodded. He glanced at Madame Pomfrey's closes office door before saying, "How are Hermione's lessons?"

Severus suddenly felt guilty. The hours-long Occlumency lessons coupled with extra detention work had probably been a little excessive, and last night he had really bullied the girl. He said, "They are going well. We have moved into more forceful forms of Occlumency. She will probably be able to create and falsify memories by the end of next week."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "How many hours?"

Snape avoided eye contact. "Four to five hours each day," he muttered.

"Severus, really," Dumbledore sighed.

"All right, all right," Severus conceded.

Dumbledore beamed. "Shall we go to dinner now?"

.

* * *

.

For the second time within a week, Hermione woke up in the Hospital Wing. When she opened her eyes, they were immensely sensitive; the cold air rushed in and stung at her. Tears welled in her eyes from the pain.

"Hermione!"

It was Ron! Hermione looked to her right, to see both of her best friends beaming at her. Ron held a plate piled high with roast beef and steak and kidney pie.

"That bastard Malfoy," Ron began.

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked. The last thing she could remember was being hit with that Tripping Jinx that had come from nowhere, and then the Petrificus Totalus. She had tried twice to free herself, all the while knowing that Malfoy's tornado was flying towards her from across the hall. She was lucky that he had been almost the whole length down the hall from her when he performed that little maneuver. Really, how had he managed to send nearly three attacks at her at once?

"Yeah, Malfoy hit you with the Conjunctivitis Curse!" Ron explained. "And you had only just vanished his last attack!"

"Much as I hate Malfoy, I'm more inclined to blame Snape," Harry said. "Madame Pomfrey said you'd only slept fifteen hours the past few nights. If I'd known, I would never have asked you for help with that Transfiguration essay!"

"Oh, no, it's all right, Harry, really," Hermione said. "Do you think I'm free to go?"

At this, a grin returned to Ron's face. "You ready for some food?" he asked.

"Did I hear voices? Ah! You're awake," Madame Pomfrey bustled over with two potions and a large bar of chocolate. She handed them over one by one to Hermione, watching to make sure Hermione drank every last drop of both potions. The sharp pain in her eyes subsided into a dull one lingering behind them. "Very good. Now repeat after me: I will sleep eight hours every night for the next week."

"I will sleep eight hours every night for the next week," Hermione said dutifully.

Madame Pomfrey sighed. "You should really be resting, but the Headmaster has informed me that Professor Snape expects you in his office at 9."

Hermione started and glanced at her watch. "8:55! Sorry, Harry. Sorry, Ron! I have to go!"

She put down the plate, grabbed her bag, and ran out the door. As she raced down the corridor, she heard Ron remarking to Harry, "Is it just me, or does it seem like Hermione actually enjoys detention?"

_._

* * *

_._

"_Oculis Polixus_!" Hermione said as she tapped her face. The strange sensation of her eyes opening up farther than they should overcame her for the third time ever. Hermione focused her eyes on her image in the mirror. Immediately, she could see all the little flaws that normally went unnoticed as she rushed from class to class, too busy to spend much time in front of the mirror.

Hermione sighed. There was no point standing in front of the mirror, examining herself like this. She resisted the temptation to cast a Glamour Charm or two. Before the Yule Ball, she and Ginny had prepared together, using the Glamour Charms ironically at first, transforming each other into various strangers. But when the hour for the ball finally approached, Ginny had shown her cast the charms so lightly that they were essentially not there. It was fun, but maintaining the Glamour for longer than an hour or two required reapplication, or careful, nonverbal magical maintenance hour or so.

On the final set of stairs, a series of fast footsteps rapidly approached Hermione. Malfoy caught up with her, and then fell into step beside her. Hermione wondered what was wrong with him. First he stared at her like he hated her over lunch yesterday, then he tried to prevent his attack from hitting her when she was hit by two stray spells from the duel next to them—or so Snape had explained last night— and now he walked beside her as if they were friends?

"No detention tonight, Granger?"

Malfoy was really quite observant. "No," Hermione answered. "At Professor Dumbledore's request, Professor Snape cancelled all my Tuesday and Thursday detentions since I have Astronomy."

Malfoy nodded, then glanced down at Hermione. "Partners again?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said stiffly.

A look of hurt— that was hurt, wasn't it?—passed over Malfoy's face, before understanding washed over his eyes. He looked behind them quickly. Seeing no one, he said in a low voice, "I'm sorry about the Conjunctivitis Curse. I didn't realize you wouldn't be ready."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Was he trying to trick her into trusting him? He was under the impression that she was Obliviated after all—

But Malfoy seemed to take her silence for assent. As they reached the platform, he said, "Did you do the spell again?"

Hermione blinked. "Yeah..."

Malfoy gestured at one of the telescopes Sinistra had already set up, and then smiled. Hermione's breath caught. It was like looking at a whole new person. Someone happy. "Me too," he said.

.

* * *

.

Hermione hurried down the steps to the ground floor, stomach growling. One thing she hated about N.E.W.T. Astronomy was how they met for almost three hours two nights a week, starting midnight! That was twice as much class as any other N.E.W.T. class… And the next morning was always Transfiguration, one of their hardest classes.

She slipped in the door with one minute to spare. Harry waved her over to their usual spot. Ron caught her eye and nodded a discreet hello while doing his best to remove Lavender's hands from his hair. Oh, I would pity you, Hermione thought, if you hadn't brought this on yourself.

"I saved this for you," Harry said, slipping her a chocolate éclair.

"Thanks," she breathed, "You're the best."

Harry smiled. McGonagall rapped for attention, and immediately began demonstrating how you could conjure multiple species of living things at once.

Harry leaned over. "So Snape really cancelled all your Tuesday and Thursday detentions? I didn't realize he could be nice…"

Hermione thought back to their Tuesday night detention. "Well, he can still be pretty awful."

Harry immediately sniffed out that there had been a problem. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing. He just found the memory where I stole those Potions ingredients second year…"

"I can't believe you really went to fetch my book for me. That almost beats the time you rescued my invisibility cloak from Gunhilda's corridor…"

The guilt settled into Hermione again. "Yeah, well I figured you could use some help with Slughorn. I wish I had managed to keep it. How's it going? I thought he might soften up after that potion you brewed the last class. Seems like you don't even need Prince's book anymore…"

Harry flopped back in his chair, letting out a long breath. "Fat chance," he said. "Slughorn practically runs away from me every time I come near him. And I only brewed that one well because I had read ahead."

"Potter!" McGonagall had caught them again. "Could you repeat what I was just saying?"

"Oh. Er…" Harry looked wildly at Hermione. She wished she had already learned Legilimency so she could implant the thought in his brain. "It was about how you have to keep track of the differences in each direction when you conjure them?"

McGonagall nodded sharply, and then continued on with the lecture. Abruptly reaching the end of her explanations, she set them to task at once practicing the new technique.

"I'm just rubbish at this," Harry whispered. "I still can't even conjure up two birds at once, and now she wants multiple birds and butterflies."

A charmed paper moth fluttered over to their desk. Hermione caught it, and then glanced around for its origin.

The Slytherins in the back were all looking at her. Pansy flicked her black hair over her shoulder and smiled condescendingly. Next to her, Zabini gestured for her to open it. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass kept their eyes flickering between Hermione and … Malfoy? Malfoy sat with Nott. Both looked at her inscrutably.

Harry made a strangled noise. "What is this?"

Hermione looked down at the unfolded note in Harry's hands. It was a crude illustration of her and Draco Malfoy kissing under a telescope. The Hermione inside the note was clearly the instigator; she kept running her hands down her body. Occasionally, the picture Hermione would shed first her scarf, then her shirt. Then the whole illustration would reset.

A blush immediately rose in Hermione's cheeks. She could hear Pansy laughing. Could Malfoy have sent this? Was that how he saw—no, he had really been decent, both last night and Tuesday night. Besides, he was still too much a racist to want to depict himself this way. Pansy, then? But what for? And why would Pansy want to make fun of Malfoy? Only a couple nights ago, they had still been patrolling together…

Hermione glanced up to see make sure McGonagall was still helping Hannah separate her combined bird-butterflies into two separate beings. She turned around, holding the note out so that the students behind her, Malfoy namely, could see. She raised her eyes to meet his, and then raised an eyebrow in question.

Malfoy's expression didn't change. He continued to look at her inscrutably, but Hermione thought she noticed his jaw tighten just the slightest bit. She shrugged and incinerated the note.

.

* * *

.

Unbelievable. That was what it was. Draco vanished his birds and butterflies with an angry swipe. "Come on," he muttered to Theo.

Theo sniggered, but followed along anyway. When they had put some distance between them and the other Slytherin sixth years, namely Pansy, who still shrieking with laughter, Draco finally slowed down. Theo took this a sign that they could talk. In that articulate, measured way of his, he said, "You knew she would take it this way."

"Yes," Draco nearly snarled back, "But that… that illustration of me and Granger!"

"Play your cards right and Pansy will hate Granger first. She might already. Did you see her jinx Granger yesterday during Defense?"

"No, but Snape told me. What's the good in making Pansy hate Granger even more than she does right now?"

"Think. If she thinks Granger is the one who stole you from her, she will be over it by the time you drop the act and start dating Astoria."

"You mean, I should carry on a farce wherein I pretend that I actually want a Mudblood?"

"I know she is a Mudblood," Theo continued, as if amused, "But she has only improved in attractiveness since fourth year. In fact, ever since she shrunk her teeth, she has consistently been one of the hottest girls at Hogwarts."

Theo paused as if considering, and then said, enunciating clearly, "Just after the Ravenclaw seeker, and around the same level as Astoria and Daphne, the youngest Weasley, Amelia Bones' niece, and the Patil twins. Take it as a compliment."

"So if you were in my situation, you'd pretend to flirt with Granger to get Pansy off your back when you really start dating Astoria?"

"No. I do not date. Girls cause problems. But since you do date, or rather, sleep around," Theo chuckled, "you might as go for one with brains."

Draco didn't respond. How could two Astronomy classes have caused him this much trouble? He needed to improve his grade in Astronomy desperately, and Granger was simply far superior to anyone else in the class. So she was cute. There he said it. Attractive, even. Especially when he could really see her face. But he had not been flirting with her. Not in the least. He would never, not with a Mudblood.

"In fact," Theo said as they walked into the Arithmancy classroom, "You could begin by looking for a girl in this class. They are the brainiest ones."

Draco snorted. Besides Granger and Bones, every other girl in the class was a Ravenclaw.

Professor Vector started lecturing. Draco immediately spaced out; Arithmancy was one of the few subjects he didn't need to catch up in at all, since he had had to learn a great deal of it to fix the Cabinet. Thankfully, Theo stopped his monologue and started diligently taking notes. Normally lazy, Theo would work when something caught his interest, hence his excellence in both Arithmancy and Potions. Sometimes, Draco suspected that Theo was actually brighter than him, and that Draco merely made up for it by working harder. But after class, Theo continued his monologue on their way to the Great Hall. "It would be a good contingency plan. Have you ever considered what you will do if Potter wins? If you actually did date Granger, they might be more inclined to forgive you later…"

Draco could not believe Theo was still talking about this. Theo generally preferred not to say much at all; he only talked to Draco because they had been friends since childhood. And he only ever talked this much when he was under a great deal of stress.

"…and if you did date Granger, then you could talk about Arithmancy while snogging!" This was followed the deep chuckle Theo reserved for when he was truly amused.

Sometimes Draco couldn't work out what Theo's problem was. That was not funny.

"Oy, Nott!" Blaise's voice sounded out behind them. Draco clenched his teeth. He was not ready to deal with Blaise after what had transpired during Transfiguration. "Where've you been?"

"Blaise, mate!" Theo's voice suddenly turned jolly. "Draco and I just finished Arithmancy. How's it going, sport?"

Blaise walked up to the other side of Theo and Theo immediately dropped his previous monologue (thank Merlin) and started talking about Quidditch with Blaise. The two of them bent their heads together in conversation. Soon, they had far outpaced Draco.

At the entrance of the Great Hall, Draco observed Blaise gesture for Theo to sit next to him, across from Pansy. He smirked. Theo hated Pansy, but Draco was the only one who knew; Theo got away with it by being silent around Pansy. Since that was his normal behavior, no one ever noticed. But then Theo sat down, smiled, and started chatting with Pansy.

Draco stared. What the fuck had just happened?

.

* * *

.

**A/N: **_Just a few notes on the spells and characters in this chapter.-raa_

**Spells:** Oculis Expedio/Prolixus are my terrible Latin translations. From what I can tell, "Oculus" is eye and "Oculis" its plural. "Prolixus" means "wide, broad, long or favorable." Expedio means "to release, set free, clear or set straight." If anyone is bothered by the lack of declensions/conjugation, please instruct me in the ways of Latin declensions!

**Random Facts: **I am also not an Astronomy buff. Argo Navis is a constellation which has now been broken up, but I thought the wizarding world might feel differently about that, seeing as many arcane things exist in their world.

**Characters:** There will have to be some OCs in this story, due to Hermione and Draco's taking classes that Harry did not. Those students who are in sixth year will all be at least "draft cannon."

**Scheduling: **I've taken some liberties with Hermione's schedule; Hermione is taking Astronomy and History of Magic in addition to her class load in the books. As for additional students in the classes, prefects and Ravenclaws get heavy priority as they are supposed to be "smarter." Classes with competent teachers, such as Charms and Transfiguration, will also have higher numbers of students. Though Defense was poorly taught for many years, D.A. and the Slytherins' likely competence at Defense due to their family backgrounds means it is also a big class.


	5. The Outside World

**Chapter 4: The Outside World  
**

_In which some stew is eaten, some butterbeer is drunk, and a spider meets the Dark Lord  
_

.

Something was going on with the Slytherins.

The Slytherin table had always been host to more hoots and jeers than the other three tables combined; casting discreet Distraction Charms towards the staff table, they would proceed to comment on the other students as they walked in. One thing that could be said about Slytherins was that, at least in non-life-threatening situations, they tended to stick together. So, though every time Eloise Midgen walked into the Great Hall, someone was bound to shout, "Eloise, what happened to your face?" to shrieks of laughter from the Slytherins, no one ever asked Millicent Bulstrode what had happened to her face, at least not while the other Houses were present. Harry suffered the worst of it, of course. The pantomimes of his accident with McLaggen had occupied the better part of two meals.

But today, the table was completely self-contained, a whole little world unto itself. The students seemed unaware of what was happening outside it; they were completely engrossed by the events unfolding at their own table. Harry couldn't quite make out what was being said over the jeers, but he was distinctly aware that something was happening. As was common for the Slytherins, the upperclassmen occupied the choicest seats in the middle of the long house table. Tension oozed out of the little knot of popular Quidditch players and sixth and seventh years who sat there.

"What do you think is going on over there?" he asked Ron.

Ron glanced over his shoulder at the Slytherins and then shrugged. "Looks like they're having a power spat. Last time this happened, Malfoy came out on top."

"Last time?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, third year. Remember?"

Harry didn't remember at all. But that couldn't be right... Malfoy had always been a popular Slytherin. Harry said, "But Malfoy's always been kind of a big deal in Slytherin House."

"Yeah," Neville joined the conversation here, "he's always been up there, being rich and a Malfoy and all that. But Slytherins are really hierarchical, you know. He had to face down the older Slytherins for the top spot."

Malfoy facing down the older Slytherins? Harry tried to remember them, but only Flint's ugly leer came to mind. But then, Ron and Neville had always understood things in wizarding society that still took Harry by surprise.

"It wasn't like this though," observed Ron, suddenly more interested. "Something big is going down." He paused, watching the table closely. "I'll say… Malfoy doesn't look too happy."

But, Harry thought, Malfoy hadn't looked happy since his father went to Azkaban. Or at least, Harry hadn't seen him look happy since then. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen Malfoy laugh.

"You think it means Malfoy is going down?" Now Ron sounded a lot more cheered than this morning, when he had moaned to Harry over Lavender's latest antics.

Harry thought back to Transfiguration, and the strange note Hermione had received. He had assumed that it was from Malfoy, but recalling Malfoy and his friend Nott's expressions now, it didn't seem likely. And Hermione hadn't seemed the least bothered, even though Ginny had told Harry at Quidditch practice that during Astronomy, Hermione had had to share one of the special telescopes with Malfoy. Harry had specifically walked Hermione to Arithmancy, thinking that she would need someone to vent to. But Hermione had talked the entire time about the magical fields of collapsed stars.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Hermione plopped down next to Harry, looking frazzled. "Arithmancy is really picking up," she said. She pointed her wand at the pot hovering magically over a small fire near the end of the table and gestured carefully. A large ladle full of beef stew rose out of the pot and began to drift towards Hermione over the heads of the fourth years seated there. "Sometimes I wonder how much Muggle mathematics Professor Vector we did these calculations… Ron, is Fourier a magical name?"

Ron was still studying the Slytherins. "What? Fourier? Yeah, haven't you heard of Joseph Fourier? He's one of Dad's heroes." Ron leaned forward, as he often did when he was about to deliver a stunning piece of news. "You see, Fourier loved Muggles so much he gave up magic to live in the Muggle world."

Hermione seemed to perk up, but then Harry was sure he had imagined it, because she looked disappointed, if anything. She frowned moodily at the ladle, which was now hovering over her bowl. "Well, yes, but I'd only heard of him in the Muggle world. So I assumed…"

A look passed over Ron's face. "Yeah, I think Dad said he was the last of his line. When he left the wizarding world… Well, you can imagine what happened." He made a snipping motion. "Since he didn't have any children, there was no one to watch over his legacy. But I think it was when he joined Napoleon Bonaparte that they really began to systematically misattribute his contributions to magical theory to Wenlock…"

The loudest jeer yet arose from the Slytherin table. A flushed Pansy rose from the table, but only half her normal gang rose with her. Daphne Greengrass, her little sister and Tracey Davis remained resolutely seated. A moment later, with catlike grace, Zabini rose as well. He watched Pansy leave the hall with her customary short, quick steps, and then turned back to the Slytherin table, reaching for his wand. The Slytherin table—and the rest of the Great Hall—fell silent. But Nott suddenly stood up and put a hand on Zabini's wand arm. Harry glanced at the staff table to see why no one was interfering (such an event would surely overcome the vague, general Distraction Charms normally placed) and was surprised to see it half empty. The staff that was there seemed preoccupied: the four women Electives professors were talking to a wildly gesturing Hagrid while a crazed Filch kept sending angry looks at the centaur Firenze, who had deigned to enter the Great Hall this luncheon. Only Snape seemed to have noticed to commotion, observing the Slytherin table with an intent, unreadable expression. Then Malfoy threw his napkin on the table and stalked out of the Great Hall, robes billowing as if he were walking into a wind. If it wasn't Malfoy, Harry thought, it would really have looked impressive.

Ron made a noise. "How does the git do that?"

Harry shrugged and turned back to his food, wondering if whatever was going on had anything to do with what Malfoy was doing secretly. Focus on Slughorn, a little voice that sounded a lot like Hermione said inside his head. Harry smiled, glancing at Hermione. After so many years of friendship where Hermione was always the voice of reason, it seemed his inner conscience had decided to simply adopt Hermione's voice.

She was still facing the entrance of the Great Hall, looking thoughtful, completely unaware of the wobbling ladle—the magic had worn thin it seemed—still hovering in front of her. Harry took its handle in hand. "Hermione? You still want this?"

Hermione turned back to face Harry. "Yes, please." She smiled. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry finished pouring the stew into her bowl and banished the ladle back to its pot. Hermione bent over her bowl, more intently focused on the act of eating than usual. She had a look on her face… Hermione often got that contemplative look when she was revising her opinion on a magical theory, or when she had found out something important. Had Hermione had discovered something about Malfoy? Maybe she had new evidence that Malfoy was indeed, a Death Eater?

But, Harry thought later, that couldn't be right because, just as she turned from facing the entrance doors to smile at him, he had definitely seen just the slightest tinge of pity colour her eyes.

.

* * *

.

A tense air pervaded the normally sunny bar. Twelve pointed hats rested on the only occupied table in the bar; their owners sat woodenly behind them, silent. A buxom bartender hummed as she prowled back and forth in pointy-toed pumps behind the bar, fussing over already clean tankards. When the thirteen tankards of butterbeer her customers had ordered were finished being filled, she levitated the glasses onto a tray and carried them over.

"Thank you, Rosmerta, thank you. Shall we drink to Hogwarts?" said the large, tawny-haired man seated near the center of the table. He lifted his glass and took a deep sip. All the others, except a pale ghost, mirrored him. The ghost leaned forward, sweeping his mouth through his tankard, as if to capture the essence of the liquid inside. "Excellent, as always, Rosmerta….Well, it was a good review, if I do say so myself…Regrettable, the number of absences, very regrettable… And Dumbledore—"

"—was unavoidably detained," a tall, very proper witch sitting directly across him cut in.

A nervous laugh came from the large-bellied, walrus-like man sitting next to her. "Don't worry, Minister. He must be on his way, you know Albus; he wouldn't miss this for the world." He pulled out a tin from his robe pocket, and proffered it in front of him. "Crystalized pineapple, anyone?"

No one expressed any interest. Silence reigned over the table.

The door opened, revealing an old man, smelling vaguely of sea air, with a splendidly long white beard, who smiled graciously. "Ah, I was hoping that you would still be here." He nodded at one very short man sitting near the end of the table. "Thank you for the timely message, Filius. My apologies, Governors, Minister Scrimgeour, Professors, for my earlier absence."

A pompous blonde man at the end gestured at an empty spot beside him. "Dumbledore, it does me good to see you," he murmured as the newcomer made his way over.

"And I, you. Ernie sends his regards, of course. He is really growing into quite an able wizard."

"I am glad someone else thinks so! I, personally, have always thought — but then, when it comes to Ernie, I am of course biased. I was quite impressed with the Masters," he nodded at the rest of the table, "as I am every year—when we do the more thorough review in June, will the Lesser Subjects attend as well? The new Divination Professor is of particular interes—"

A high-pitched cough from the pudgy, toad-faced woman sitting next to the Minister interrupted the polite conversation. Dumbledore turned to face her. "Dolores, what a pleasure."

"Yes," more coughing, "a pleasure indeed, Headmaster…You are so late, I was beginning to think you might be, ahem, purposefully avoiding the meeting…"

"Perhaps you misunderstand the meaning of the word 'unavoidably,'" the witch across from the Minister interrupted, louder than was proper.

"Minerva, please, let us not raise our voices," Dumbledore said calmly. "Minister—my professors have classes after lunch that they must attend to. If you would excuse them…"

The Minister nodded once, sharply. At this, a great portion of the table, including Minerva, the pot-bellied man and the ghost, rose. Dumbledore glanced at the tall witch. "Ah, Minerva, if you could stay…"

The others shuffled out the door. The moment the door closed, a dignified, white-haired man to the left of Minerva who had been silent so far turned to Dumbledore. He gestured quickly at the air, performing a bubble spell to isolate their speech. "Well, Albus, did you go to see who the little traitors are? Were they"—he waved a hand at the some empty seats set out near the end of the table where no one had been before—"there?"

"I must have misunderstood, Governor Urquart. Do you mean to say that there is somewhere else the Headmaster should have been?" the simpering toad-faced woman put in. "This is the most important meeting. The Minister is here."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named called a meeting for this very hour—"

"Oh! And you would know this, I suppose, because, perhaps, you are in league with He-Who—"

"Let us not pretend, Umbridge!" Urquart thundered. "Keep your Undersecretary in check, Minister; I will not be spoken to in this manner! I am no spy, but I need not be one to know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is recruiting—Selwyn, Meliflua, and the other seven Governors are probably pledging eternal loyalty to him as we speak!"

Tittering, Umbridge set down her tankard. "Governor Urquart, you will respect the Minister—"

But a sharp glance from the Minister silenced her. After a moment, the witch named Minerva asked sharply, "Elard — you… did you receive an invitation?"

"No, of course not — Elphinstone was famous for his Muggle sympathies…we were known to be close, even for brothers, while he lived… And now with you, his widow, at Albus' side…" Urquart said.

"But I did," said a second man who had so far remained quiet. "And you did too, did you not, Macmillan?"

"As did I," affirmed the blonde man seated next to Dumbledore. "It was worded in such a way…I had several visits too, Dumbledore, from some so-called friends—they were quite keen to remind me that Ernie's name was on that list, that list of students in your 'Army'…"

"Received invitations!" exclaimed Urquart. "That's akin to a death wish, you two showing up here like this, with him expecting you! Albus, you had better—"

"Yes, Elard," said Dumbledore. He turned to the two other Governors, meeting each of their nervous gazes evenly. "Thank you, Damocles, Algernon," he said quietly. "I appreciate your presence here, at the service of the school, even if the face of such danger, more than you can know."

Dumbledore glanced shrewdly at the Minister before turning his attention to so-far silent black man sitting next to the Minister. He looked intently, too, at the witch he had stopped from leaving. Then, he said slowly, as if allowing room for interruption,"The Order can protect you, if that is what you need at this hour. Or —and Elard, this is for you too—you may join us."

Immediately, the tension sapped out of the blonde man beside Dumbledore. Pompously, Algernon said, "I will join you. Ernie had the right of it, I believe, even if signing his name on that list was quite…If you don't mind Albus, I'll be asking around. I know Amos would be happy to join…"

"Us, too." Urquart and the second man, Damocles, agreed.

"Well, this is quite cozy, is it not?" the Minister, quiet for so long, put in. "First your Hogwarts Professors, then the Board of Governors, and even some of their friends, all of them now in your little Order. Tell me, Dumbledore, did you plan on inviting the Ministry too?"

Dumbledore looked sternly over his half-moon spectacles at the Minister. "You know the Order would stand by the Ministry's side, Rufus, if you would only change your policies."

"This is not a question of policies, Dumbledore. We need Potter. The people need assurance. This is a war, Dumbledore!"

"And how we fight it makes all the difference! You will not use the boy, Rufus. I will not allow it."

The Minister rose rapidly. "You have taught too long, protected by the remoteness of Hogwarts castle. You have forgotten, Dumbledore, how these things are done. So let me remind you that last time, we did not defeat evil by allowing morality to hem us in at every corner! Crouch enabled our Aurors to do what was necessary and that was how we drove back He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's forces!"

"Then clearly Harry Potter has nothing to do with victory!" Dumbledore, who was also standing now, rejoined in ringing tones.

"I see that you are as stubborn as ever. Shacklebolt, see the Governors back to their homes. Dawlish, Dolores, with me." The Minister, who had waited so patiently for Dumbledore to arrive, now took leave in a hurry.

But at the door, he turned back, "I did not ask Fudge to pretend that the Dark Lord had not returned; I did not purposely send my Aurors out to capture Stan Shunpike with a mind of setting the public at ease with a false arrest; I do not ask Potter to acknowledge more than what your actions have already implied for the past sixteen years—to acknowledge what you—and he!— already know to be true. I did what I had to do; I do what I have to do — what anyone with any sense in my position would do! You will regret it, Dumbledore, if, at the end, all your scruples, all your little secrets and maneuverings, all your hopes in the boy amount to nothing. You will remember that there was another way, should you have wanted it!"

His departure left the room silent, except for the tuneless hum of the bartender. Then, recovering first, the lone, remaining witch of the party turned to the five wizards, "Albus, unless you plan to be out again, we'll be needing someone to fill in for Severus this afternoon—"

"Oh, yes, of course," agreed the old wizard amiably. He turned to the four other wizards, showing them a slight slip of paper, and then nodding to Kingsley. "I will join you at Headquarters as soon as I am finished with Severus' classes."

Slight murmurs of assent around the table. Then, the hats were picked, one by one, up off the table, and fitted to their owners' heads. The wizards, minus Dumbledore, joined arms, and disappeared with a pop.

With a sigh, Dumbledore rose to his feet. "Shall we, Minerva?"

Looking troubled, Minerva also rose, "Albus, are you sure? You do remember what Damocles said last year when we asked—"

"We can hardly blame them for their disbelief, Minerva…Elard was hesistant too, was he not?" Dumbledore held open the door for Minerva.

"Yes—I suppose—Elard was always—" The bar's door swung shut behind them.

Only the hum of the bartender remained. It was a tuneless, mindless sort of hum, and only if you listened carefully could you make out what she was saying: "Act normally…Everything is beautiful…Report…I feel so euphoric, so light…The Governors and the Minister and the Hogwarts Masters came here for a drink…Over…It is such a sunny, beautiful day…"

.

* * *

_._

Many miles away from Madame Rosmerta's sunny bar, in a shaded lane, a striped insect leg unfurled and then sunk into the soft, fleshy drupelet of a blackberry. Another white, striped leg followed, sinking into a different drupelet. Then, two large eyes as dark as the fruit upon which the spider crawled, rose up, facing the lane.

The slightest pop, a sound so soft it could be mistaken for the sound one hears when swallowing, alerted the spider to another presence. The sun here was hidden, as it had been for more than a year now, behind an unnatural darkness. Only the keen eyes of a zebra spider could have made out the form of a man with large, hooked nose hidden behind the hood standing in the shadows. Excellent; just when it thought it had missed its chance, another human appeared readily to aid its entrance into the gardens behind the charmed no-trespass hedge on the other side of the lane. The spider braced itself against the fruit, which, being of magical origin, protested by deflating unnaturally. Its launching point having been compromised, the spider bent its legs and leapt but only barely managed to catch on to man's cloak. Through three of its back eyes, the spider spied the rapidly moving gravel beneath it. It clung to the threads and then made its way to a safer spot on the cloak; this one moved far too fast for comfort.

.

* * *

.

Shadows danced on the faces of the Death Eaters sitting around the long, dark cherry table which ran the length of the drawing room. Shrouded in the darkness nearer the wooden panels of the walls, more pale, restless faces darted looks at the door to see who had entered. Several of the room's inhabitants acknowledged Severus as he made his way past them towards the empty seat near the head of the table; a contemptuous toss of mass of black-hair, the discreet incline of a white-blonde head, a glint of yellowed, pointed teeth…Ah, yes, now he remembered: this was that type of gathering. No wonder it seemed a little more crowded than usual. Severus took his place at the table. A few seats to his left, the tallest, grandest chair was still void of its master. The Dark Lord had not yet arrived.

"Some wine, Severus?" A hushed voice behind him.

Severus glanced up. "Narcissa."

She placed a glittering wine glass down near his right hand, and bent low over it. Shimmering where the light hit it, a twisting stream of dark liquid flowed from the bottle in her hands.

Her voice in his ear. "Blackberry wine, from our own ever-flowering bushes…Perhaps you have seen them? There are some, unkempt, which have spread into the lane that leads in…"

"Indeed."

She lowered her voice even more. "We were worried that you would not make it… Before Lucius was ah…before Lucius decided to step down, the Board of Governors always preferred Fridays…We, Lucius and I, were hoping that—"

Severus placed a warning hand on her outstretched arm, nodding at the wine glass. Narcissa jerked the bottle upright, disturbing the glass in her haste and spilling quite a bit on the table. The dark liquid inside the glass, poured far too high, sloshed violently from side to side. "You are right, of course, Narcissa," he said. "But Scrimgeour would not hear of my presence at the —"

An abrupt scraping of chairs stopped Severus short. Their master had arrived.

.

* * *

The spider crept down from the cloak and onto the ornately carved chair, which provided convenient grooves for its downward journey. Excitement urged it onwards. Finally, it had made it past the hedges, with access to the gardens, at last! The mosquitos on this side of the hedge were always bloated with blood. As the spider reached a leg tentatively out to the floor, something—perhaps the sudden sound of dozens of chair legs screeching against the wooden floor, or perhaps, just an animal instinct—warned it against such an action. The spider retreated upwards, up the chair again.

Low murmurs sounded across the room, moving up as a tall, cloaked figure made its way to the head of the table. "My lord," the men and women in the room whispered as he passed, sinking back down into their chairs once he swept past.

When the chair's owner sat down again, the spider made its way to the top of the man's greasy, black-haired head, and perched there, observing its new surroundings.

All eyes rested on the figure, who was standing with back turned towards the rest of room, eyes on the fire before him. Excellent. The spider scampered along the hair, hoping to make for the table; it was the safest, farthest place from the presence which it now sensed slithering along the floor. It leapt. Success! Now it had only to creep down the table to the doors….The spider stretched two legs out into the air in front of it.

A high, sibilant voice cut across the murmurs. "My friends, so kind of you to join me." The spider froze in its place, legs still lifted in the air. "Lucius, some wine for our new guests, I think? Some of you I have seen recently, my old friends… Others…So many faces I had almost forgotten…"

A pale hand emerged from the within the sleeve of the figure's robe, caressing a wand in its fingers. The spider repositioned itself so that its two best, largest eyes faced the head of the table to better observe this man who induced such fear even within the humans who normally lorded over the rest of the world. As the man slowly left the front of the table to walk menacingly around the room, the spider made out what was surely the most un-human human face it had ever seen. Two dark slits for nostrils in a pale, gleaming face, and another two dark slits for pupils in glowing crimson eyes.

"Why do you look so scared, Prewett? Selwyn? Come, Brown, steel yourself. Surely you remember the old times…"

The room's inhabitants shifted uncomfortably as the man continued his round, looking intently at each one as he passed. Two white-blonde heads weaved about, handing out glasses and pouring out wine. They bowed low as the man passed them. Though he did not speak now, the silence was even more oppressive than his voice. The spider admired its original carrier; when the red-eyed gaze fell upon him, the hook-nosed, black-haired man did not move a muscle. He did not even blink.

As the figure repositioned himself in front of the fireplace, a black silhouette against the flames, he began to speak in earnest. He spoke in fast, hissing tones, the vowels clipped and the consonants drawn out. "I have called you here tonight to offer you a place in the world I once offered to you, a world that many of you abandoned when you believed, falsely, that I had fallen. But I, Lord Voldemort, am forgiving. I am merciful. Because you are of true blood, I have called you here again. I will allow those of you who are pure-bloods, or half-bloods from the old, illustrious lines," here, he inclined his head at the spider's carrier, "to prove that you are worthy of serving me to join with my most faithful, my Death Eaters. The others, I welcome you to a new world order." He gestured to a pointy-toothed, hungry looking man lounged across some furniture which had looked to be hastily pushed to the side of the room, and then to a stiff, handsome man with very red lips, who smiled, revealing fangs on either side of his mouth."The times have changed. Soon, very soon, my friends, the Ministr—

Though the voice was still chilling, the cadence of speech itself calmed the spider. Once again, its mind flitted to the bloated prey, fat from feasting on the peacocks, awaiting it outside. It began to move down the table now, front eyes now fixed upon the wooden doors outside which paradise waited.

"—ulstrode, I do understand; Lord Voldemort understands the plight of those not gifted with a natural aptitude towards dueling. But there are other ways to serve your master, are there not? I have—"

About five more steps, and then a giant leap towards freedom! Just as the spider neared the end of the table, a hiss, one that sent chills up the fine hair that lined the spider's feet, emanated from the floor.

"—welcome all servants. I—Yes, Nagini?—Ah, is that right, Nagini. My friends, we seem to have a visitor this afternoon—"

A shadow crossed over the spider's position. It took one terrified look at the approaching figure, which advanced with wand raised, and, forgetting the remaining the distance along the table, sent a thread flying towards the door and took a frantic leap.

Midair, a flash of red light caught it. Piercing, debilitating pain overcame the spider as it fell back towards the table. It twitched and flipped over, trying to soothe the pain with pressure. A high, piercing laugh echoed in the room.

"Do you not enjoy the sight, Parkinson? No, you were always weak…" The wand remained trained upon the spider.

Contorting unnaturally, the spider twisted this way and that. One of its tough exoskeleton legs snapped under the pressure. Suddenly, the pain lifted, but small aftershocks of pain kept overwhelming the spider's nervous system. Instinct hammered at the spider; it must move, but try as it might, its legs would not obey. They twitched uncontrollably.

"Watch closely, my friends. Too long have we allowed vermin to pollute our magical world, too long have we practiced mercy for the weak," the figure hissed. The figure raised its wand once more. "_Crucio_," he hissed.

The pain hit again. The spider willed itself to turn over, and then turn over again, repeatedly, pressure alleviating the pain temporarily whenever it hit a new spot.

More high laughter. Minutes passed, the pale, commanding figure surveying the room for their reactions. "Shafiq, turn and look at the insect…."

When the pain ended again, the spider was ready. Heaving, the spider scrambled for the nearest cover on the table, but each way it turned, arms, and the folds of robes within which it could be safe were removed from the table. Spots on the table began to light up in red, waves of heat radiating out. The spider sped up, moving with a speed it had never known itself to be capable of. It turned one direction, found no safety, and then tried the next, desperation overcoming all sense.

The high, chilling voice sounded once more. "Hogwarts will fall soon— And the Ministry is within our grasp. Already, we begin to turn the members, of ranks high and low! Just look amongst yourselves. Now, observe old friends and new, the last moments of a dying creature…"

The heat of the table seared at its feet. The spider ran faster. It collided with the base of a wine glass, and then stumbled back into a pool of a sweet-smelling, red liquid. Blackberries. Just an hour before, the spider remembered, it was sinking its legs into the soft drupelets of blackberries. Outside this horrid place. The liquid welled underneath it, threatening suffocation. Oh, to die now, to just rest—

"_Engorgio_." The spider swelled to the size of a rat, its twitching legs now clearly visible to everyone's eyes. "Nagini, a snack." The words shocked one last effort into the spider; it pushed itself away from the liquid, trying to breathe. Hairy legs clicked against the table furiously. "Ah, yes. This one seems to have some nascent magical ability; the power of understanding human speech, most certainly. It is quite bright, is it not, Fawley? But see, all that intelligence was no use, in the end. For the weak shall fall. And the strong survive. The old order is dying—"

A flash of green light. A twitch. Then, stillness.

"—And a new one is rising. Rise with me, friends."

.

* * *

Chairs scraping. Legs straightening to bear the weight of their owners' heavy thoughts. Hearts beating fast and then slowing. Fear subsiding into resignation. Sleeves of robes sliding down to reveal forearms stained with folly. The folly of their youthful ambition; the folly of the false ideology they once embraced, still embrace; the folly of following a dream of reigning, superior, above others. Now, they are all servants. But aren't we all?

One moment of truth. For those who escaped unstained the last time, one more moment of freedom. And then— the tinkle of a hundred glasses lifted into trembling hands. All around, quiet sips of assent. How did such a simple gesture—one drink, one sip—come to have such meaning?

Is it fear of dying that forces us to make such bargains? Or a love of life?

.

* * *

_._

Harry examined the map with frustration. Dobby and Kreacher had returned with a report that Malfoy didn't seem to be doing anything except spending a lot of time in Snape's office doing homework. To boot, Malfoy, at least judging from the Marauder's Map, seemed to be spending much more time in the castle now. His name no longer disappeared off the map for hours at a time. Nor did Crabbe or Goyle wander the halls alone anymore.

But Malfoy couldn't be done with his task…could he? Whatever it was that Draco had been doing, it had to be something with a consequence. How could it simply pass without event?

Hermione sank into the library seat next to him. "Where's Ron? Anyways, thanks for agreeing to study with me on a Friday, Harry. I know you, Ginny and Ron normally play Quidditch…This week was just—" she cut short when she saw the map. "Are you still tracking Malfoy?"

Harry looked down to avoid what he knew must be her disapproving gaze. He said, defensively, "He's up to something. I know he is. He practically told me before he kicked my face in on the Hogwarts Express…He has to be."

Harry looked up to meet Hermione's eyes, preparing himself for her disapproval.

But Hermione's face was surprisingly blank. "I mean, he might be, I suppose…"

Hope leaped in Harry's chest. Maybe he had been right at lunch? Maybe she actually knew something? "Hermione," he began. "You have to tell me—"

Harry stopped abruptly as he saw Lavender and Parvati determinedly making their way up the aisle towards them. Hermione looked questioningly at him, so he gestured at them. Hermione turned, drew in a sharp breath, and then began packing her things immediately.

"Wait—Hermione—we just need to—" Parvati said quickly.

Harry stepped in between the two girls and Hermione. "If you had any honour at all, you'd 'fess up to McGonagall about Wednesday," he began.

"We just want to talk to her. To apologize," Parvati said, nudging Lavender.

Lavender, who was looking at the ground, said sullenly, "I'm sorry."

With her wand hand, Hermione clutched at the straps of her book bag which she had slung over one shoulder, as if to prevent herself from grasping something else. "Apology accepted."

Lavender suddenly looked up. "But I'm not sorry at all! You knew that I liked him, but you didn't once try to help me get his attention. And then you ignored me for weeks when I finally got with him, because you were just jealous that he was mine, that I had won! But then Ron was poisoned and now you're all best friends again, and I can barely get in a word with him! I need him — I do!—I— I love him! But that doesn't concern you, because it's always about you! Miss-perfect-prefect Hermione Granger! You just can't stand to have someone—"

Lavender's mouth continued to move, for two syllables, until everyone realized that Hermione had silenced her. "I don't have to listen to this," she said.

"Look, Hermione," said Parvati, "I just want it to be normal in the dormitory again…I mean, you weren't really that badly hurt…No I mean, I'm really sorry, and," she glanced guiltily at Lavender, who was motioning urgently at Parvati's wand pocket, "I know she will be too….She's just been under a lot of pressure lately."

Hermione made no move to un-silence Lavender. She turned her wand slowly between her fingers, taking her time before responding. "You know what makes me angry?" she said quietly. "The fact that even though Pansy sent the first Jinx at me, it was you, Lavender, who sent the Petrificus Totalus, attacking me when I was already down. I could do that too, you know… Next time Ron starts ranting about Malfoy, I could just tell him who actually Petrified me on Wednesday."

Lavender looked furiously at Hermione while Parvati glanced between Harry and Hermione uncertainly. For his part, Harry admired, once again, Hermione's effectiveness under pressure and wondered whether Snape was beginning to rub off on his best friend after all those detentions. He remembered then his own detention on Friday nights with a sinking heart.

Suddenly, touched with a minor epiphany, Lavender pulled out her own wand and, swishing it once, failed to end her imposed silence. Another swish, which also failed. More incensed than ever, she raised her wand and pointed it at Hermione.

"Hermione tripped because of Pansy?" Parvati was looking at Harry for confirmation, clearly unaware of Lavender's actions.

"Um, yeah…We're still trying to figure out why—"

"There you are!" Ron came around the back, fifteen minutes late for their study date as usual, entering the aisle behind Harry and Hermione. "I…" He fell silent as he saw their company.

Lavender looked between Ron, Harry and Hermione. Then, tears streaming down her face, she ran out of the aisle.

Hermione lowered her wand. Nodding at Parvati, she said, "You better go after her…Remember that time with Seamus?"

Still looking uncertain, Parvati turned towards her friend's departing back, and then glanced back at the trio. "I really am sorry, Hermione. She's really been having a hard time…I'll fill you in later…" She hurried down the aisle after Lavender.

With a gulp, Ron turned to his two best friends. "Do I even want to know what that was about?" He tried for the silly grin.

Hermione turned on Ron. "Stop, Ron. It's not funny. Not even close."

Surprised, Ron took a step back. "Sure, sorry. But yeah, I mean, she…she gets a little crazy sometimes…"

Hermione was clearly not mollified. "Boys always say that, as if they're not the cause of it all, as if they—"

"Merlin, Hermione, calm down. It was just a joke…"

"A joke!" screeched Hermione. Suddenly, all Harry's hopes for the fast recovery of his friends' friendship, a recovery which had been going so well after Ron's poisoning, were dashed: Hermione raised her wand again. This time, its tip was pointed at Ron's chest. "It's all your fault! We—Lavender and I— were actually getting along this year until you… you just—" She cut herself short and blinked hard. Then, she had turned and rounded the corner into the back walkway. Her voice came from around the corner. "Sorry, Harry, I've just got to—"

Raising a hand up to spike up the hair behind his head, Ron grimaced. "That was just bloody…bloody…"

"Bloody awful."

"…Yeah. I mean, I didn't…she and Krum. I figured…"

"That was fourth year, Ron."

"Yeah! But Lavender, she actually likes me for me! I mean, no, I'm not crazy about her. Haven't ever been, but Hermione's so…she's just…and McLaggen…"

Mind already returning to the mystery of Malfoy's task, Harry absently packed up his things. "Shall we see if we can still catch Ginny for that pick-up Quidditch then?"

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* * *

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A/N: Thank you for reading as usual! -raa

**Fortheloveofglitter:** I wish magic were real lots of the time too.

**DaAnimeChick:** I have read Flowers for Algernon but I confess I was actually thinking of the Importance of Being Earnest when I named Ernie's dad, hoping that would help clue people in too.

**Silvana:** Thank you!

**A/N:** Just another little scene from the "outside world." In case there was any confusion, there are a few new characters in this chapter. They are Elard, brother of Elphinstone Urquart, who was married to McGonagall, Damocles, the uncle of Marcus Belby who invented Wolfsbane Potion, and Algernon Macmillan, Ernie's father. Next up, the other side recruits as well! -raa

**roseberrygirl**: Oh, I'm glad you think so! Thank you for the kind words! Sometimes I look through the other newly updated fanfics jealously and wonder why they have so many more reviews than me. Haha! I love the dramione moments too and I think maybe one reason I don't have more reviews is because there's so few of them in the many thousands of words I've already written. *sigh* For the sake of the story, it had to be done. As for HG/SS, I do think that the beginning of this story would be an interesting set-up for that ship but I don't think I would do it justice...

**TurquoiseMonkey**: Unfortunately, this chapter introduces some changes which may not technically snowball from Hermione's actions. However, I definitely approached this fic thinking about "what would have happened if.." so I'm glad you like that premise too!


	6. In the Library

**Chapter 5: In the Library**

_In which Draco makes a friend and Hermione an acquaintance  
_

.

.

Classes over. Finally. Draco walked briskly to the Library. If he was quick, he could still catch Theo in his favorite study spot before dinner. The other boy had studiously avoided Draco after lunch during Double Charms and Potions, and Draco was going to find out why.

A girl wearing two braids pushed past him, tears streaming down her face. Seconds later, Pavarti Patil hurried up the aisle. "Have you seen Lavender?" she asked anxiously, before stopping abruptly when she realized who she had asked.

"Let's see," Draco replied sardonically. "Have I seen an overemotional Gryffindor girl who's obsessed with Divination? Oh yeah…she's standing right here."

"Very funny," retorted Patil. Yeah, Draco thought, it hadn't been a very good line. But Patil was clearly in a rush to find her friend, because in the next moment she was already past him.

Draco cut across this aisle, which looked empty, to walk along the back corridor, where he was likely to run into overeager Gryffindors.

In the next second, he was nearly bowled over again when Granger walked straight into him, wiping ineffectually at the tears on her own face with the back of her hand.

"Oh! Sorry…Malfoy," she said, eyes widening when she realized who she had walked into. Dusting herself off, and, ducking down, she picked up the library book he had picked up from the display at the entrance. She did a strange little maneuver with her wand which Draco would not have been able to place if he had not recognized the faint burning smell. A Glamour Charm, for red eyes. "Oswald Beamish, The Goblin Chronicles," she read off the spine. "Is it any good?"

Granger was too nice, Draco decided. He had always known that, in a vague sort of way. He had observed her untiring efforts at S.P.E.W. and watched her shoulder Potter's burdens both fourth and fifth year. But it was entirely different to be on the receiving end of that kindness. After an incident like the note in Transfiguration, Draco thought, he certainly wouldn't be caught dead talking to him if he were Granger. But since she wasn't doing the math…Draco calculated. What were the chances that Blaise or Pansy would be nearby? Not likely… It was Friday, after all. "Granger," he nodded. It wouldn't hurt to make sure though it was safe to talk though. He gestured into the aisle from which he had just come, and then walked about ten feet into the aisle. Granger saw the sense in his suggestion and followed him. Draco then performed Snape's handy Muffliato spell (he had gotten the man to show him last night after Astronomy… incredibly useful, this one.)

"Where did you learn that—What is that spell?" Granger asked him.

"Oh, here—" Draco showed her the hand motions, and then spoke the incantation again.

She smiled tightly, and then held his book out. "Thanks. So…"—she held out his book again—"how is it?"

Draco took it. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I started it once in fourth year, but I didn't know enough about the Goblin Wars then… Thought I would pick it up again."

Granger looked surprised. Of course she would be, Draco thought. He had surprised himself when he picked it off the display again. But the book on the Goblin Wars had been imminently fascinating. It had been clear to him that several of the battles had been recounted in a particularly lopsided way. And since goblins since were infamously close-lipped about their own version history, to learn about them, he had had to resort to Beamish's observations. In fourth year, he had been disgusted by Beamish's enthusiasm for the creatures, but more and more, he saw that goblins were indeed quite powerful. Their magic had its own traditions.

A low voice interrupted both Granger and Draco's silent musings. "Yeah…Girls…I think they just go crazy at this age…I mean, Ginny used to be all sweet and now she's just…" It was Weasley.

Granger stiffened.

"Hermione's not crazy," another voice put in. It was Potter. "She's more rational than Cho for sure…"

So that was why she had cast the Glamour Charm. Had probably been crying…

A low, bitter sounding laugh from Weasley. "Yeah, well, I've got the emotional range of a teaspoon so—"

This brought muffled laughter from Potter, and then a shove and some good-natured scuffling. Draco eyed Granger, who was still standing stiffly.

Coming back to her senses, Granger gave Draco another tight smile and then turned to walk up the aisle, back towards the main corridor; she was clearly trying to avoid her two best friends.

Before he realized he was doing it, Draco put a hand on her arm to stop her. "Granger," he said. She stopped stiffly, turning to look at him. He pressed on with what he was about to say, marveling at his own kindness for saying it."You know what I said about Weasley, on Tuesday?"

She looked wary. "Yes?"

"Well, what I should have said is… You shouldn't pine over a little blood-traitor like that anyway."

Granger looked more wary, if anything. "Thanks, Malfoy," she said before continuing on her way. What was the girl's problem?

Draco tried to shake his head free of the overemotional Gryffindors of his year. Ah, but that must be why the Brown bint had been crying… must have run into the Weasel with his two best friends in the library and had a little spat. And then Granger had probably had a spat with Weasley. What exactly did she see in that ugly blood-traitor anyway?

A sudden realization hit Draco. Of course she wouldn't have approved of his use of the term. It hadn't even occurred to him; those were the exact words he had used on Daphne when she was still pining over Macmillan…

Draco neared his destination, a little nook between Arithmancy and Ancient Runes that you had to practically crawl through some shelves to get to. It had somehow gone unnoticed by all but himself and Theo. He pushed all thoughts of Granger aside, concentrating on his current goal.

.

* * *

.

Thinking back, Draco could tell that Theo had been strange for weeks. Months, even. But Draco had been too busy with the Cabinet to pay attention. Now he took a moment to recall just how much more talkative Theo had become. All the times he came back from a late night in the Room of Requirement and saw Theo reclined comfortably on the leather sofas with Blaise and Vaisey. All the times at dinner Theo had expansively explained to some third years what they were doing wrong in Transfiguration.

He reached the nook, but the man was not there; scrolls and books lay open at the lone desk. From behind him, he heard Theo's even, plodding footsteps approach. Standing in a corner where Theo would not notice his presence, Draco waited as Theo plunked the books he had carried back on the desk and sat down.

"You and I," he said impassively, "need to talk." He waved his wand at a chair, which drifted soundlessly out from the corner and arranged itself beside Theo.

Theo didn't look up from the scroll he was no working on. "It is not about you, Draco."

Sometimes it was so much easier to deal with simpletons. If this were Crabbe, he would have fallen apart the moment Draco sat down. But then again, this whole situation would never have arose if it were Crabbe. Crabbe would never have kept his secrets for so long without throwing a fit.

"No, it's not about me," Draco said. "Not at all. You only sided with Blaise because you were bored."

Theo dropped his quill back into its ink pot. "I did not side with anyone. I stopped him from attacking you."

"And implied that it wasn't worth it because he was already at the top!"

"He was only going to because of what you said to Pansy! You brought it on yourself."

"She deserved it," Draco snarled back, composure gone. This was why he hated Theo sometimes. Potter and his friends had humiliated Draco before, but Theo could get to him just by telling uncomfortable truths.

Theo said nothing, just continued to examine his ink pot.

Draco breathed out slowly, letting his anger fade. "Is he?"

His friend refused to look at him.

"Theo, look at me. Is he the 'alpha male' in Slytherin pecking order now?" Draco said this last bit bitterly, spitting out the words.

Theo examined his nails, and then looked Draco straight in the eyes. "You already know the answer to that." Theo puffed air into his cheeks and blew it all out. "Yes. Yes, he is. He has been ever since he got picked for ol'Slughorn's little club and you didn't and then you started to disappear to Merlin knows where for hours at a time with Vince and Gregory! You know he even started a rumor that the three of you were gay lovers and that's why you were sneaking off, that is, you were sneaking off to happily fuck each others' brains out, and you'd only pretended the Dark Lord had chosen you so you could have more attention?"

Draco was glad to see that Theo was worked up enough to be losing some control over his normally articulate and proper speech. Yes, he did know all of that. He had known it for months, but he hadn't wanted to; he had wanted to believe that even if he wasn't Alpha male, anytime he wanted the top spot back (and boy, did he want it back now), it would be ceded to him. Draco steeled himself. It was gone. It didn't matter. He would get it back. What he needed to know right now was what in Merlin's name Theo was doing.

"Yes. All right. So he's it. Number one. But you never cared two Sickles before. Tell me. Why now? Why do you care now, now that when he's it and I'm not?"

Theo's chair toppled over and Theo pushed himself up and glared at Draco. "No. You don't get to know, Draco." Now it was his turn to breath out, slowly. "You do not get to keep secrets and then pretend you have a right to mine. That is not how it works."

"What do you want to know?"

"What, you would tell me?"

"Depends what you want to know."

Theo studied Draco with those black eyes of his. "I think you should talk to your father."

.

* * *

.

Low mutterings surrounded Severus in the darkened drawing room. Introductions from the new guard to the old. He looked unsmilingly on the pug-nosed, balding man who was approaching him, having already kissed the Dark Lord's robes and pledged his loyalty. The man faltered at Severus' expression and then turned to the blonde wizard at Severus' right.

"Lucius," he whispered, "It is so good to see you…"

"Good to see you too, Parkinson," Lucius replied sardonically. "I see that you have seen the light…"

Another man, severely shaken from his interview with the Dark Lord, made his way around the waiting line towards the exit. Severus made eye contact. Using Legilimency, he caught a glimpse of the Dark Lord's terrible expression in the man's mind.

A scream erupted from the front of the room. Severus turned his eyes to see that same terrible expression being directed at a new victim; Elion Prewett, Molly Weasley's cousin, writhed on the floor. The Dark Lord threw his head back and laughed his high, cruel laugh. It was a gesture that did not suit the man he had become; it was all manly bravado and posturing. Not at all like the deadly, stilted, stifling presence that the Dark Lord had cultivated.

What incites a man, Severus wondered, a man once capable of pulling off a such a laugh, a man so handsome and so powerful, a man once so well-liked, to forsake it all to become—_that_? Severus recalled the memories Albus had shown him: Tom Riddle Jr. had been the type of boy that the young Severus would have found himself jealous of and drawn to all at once. Rather like James Potter, Severus bitterly admitted to himself, albeit much darker. Already, in those memories, that vague aura of power which surrounds the best wizards had formed around the adolescent boy. Severus liked to think he was not such a fool as Horace Slughorn, but he admitted that even he would have been taken in by such a student, if he had led as comfortable and as fat a life as Horace had led until then.

The screams stopped; Prewett lay panting on the ground. The line inched forward; another wizard crawled forward to kiss his new Master's robes and then hurried away, to the relative safety of being, once again, out of sight of the Dark Lord. Severus sighed. Soon, he thought, he would have to send a coded owl to Dumbledore explaining that he would not be at the castle tonight… Potter's detention would have to wait. Severus suppressed an impatient sigh. This had been going on for hours now — dinner had come and passed. Severus had taken his meal early, and was now busy ensuring that no spies or secret assassinators had joined their crowd. The Dark Lord was proud, but he was no fool.

Not that the Dark Lord really had anything to fear, Severus thought. What with the prophecy and knowing about his own Horcruxes, he must feel invincible. His fear of death had really paid off in some ways, but in other ways…Severus was not a vain man, but even he would have been just the slightest bit disappointment if he had worked for a year to regain a new body, only to reincarnate into that particular one…

But, Severus thought, was it really only a fear of death that had turned that bright-eyed, ambitious boy into the inhuman form at the front of the room? In many ways, the Dark Lord was just a shell of his old self now. It was true that he still possessed great grace, and unparalleled power. But he had retained only the slightest bit of the charisma; only a hint of his old charm, the one that had disarmed professors, even brought him his first followers, remained. All because of a little fear.

Fear. Severus had known fear all his life. Fear of the loud fights his parents would have. Fear of coming in second. Fear of losing Lily to Potter. Fear of being alone. Fear for his life—and those of his few good friends—after he had joined the Death Eaters. Fear for Lily once he had reported the prophecy, and come to understand its true meaning. Fear for the Potter boys's life, far too many times.

And now all those fears were gone. They had all dissolved now, for everything Severus had ever feared had already come to pass: At school, he had learned that no matter how hard he tried, he would always come in second to the duo of Potter and Black. To add insult to injury, he had lost Lily to Potter. His parents' fighting had escalated to the point of mutual physical violence by the time of his graduation. Later, when he and his school friends had all joined the Death Eaters together, he had come to realize that even surrounded by them, he was completely alone. And then one night, Regulus had come to him shivering, speaking words of rebellion, and the next he had lost Regulus, forever. His last true friend in those years, gone.

He had lost Lily. And now, he would lose even the Potter boy. There was nothing to fear anymore; there was nothing to lose. There was no one left to save, nothing left to savor.

But, Severus thought, that was not exactly true. If he were to die now, would he not feel unsatisfied? As if he had left something undone? Potter's mission, if not his life, still hung in balance…the Granger girl's lessons had to be finished…he would miss her curiosity…and there was Draco.

Yes, something would have to be done by someone for Draco. He was much too talented for the future that no doubt faced him, no matter which way the war went. Severus could see it now: Draco following silently along as Lucius and Bellatrix sought ever-higher honors, ever-more-dangerous missions; Draco, brooding, sitting aimlessly in an Azkaban cell, striving with all his might to keep the Dementors out, day after day, week after week, year after year…

Some more stragglers entered now; they had been trickling in all afternoon and evening, looking terrified and giving one truly excellent excuse after another. This time, Dolores Umbridge marched in on her short legs, followed by a cautious, lurking Shacklebolt.

It was a good time to make an entrance; the Dark Lord was occupied at the front of the line. Severus walked over to the pair. "Dolores," he nodded. "A pleasure." He raised an eyebrow at her companion, to signal that he wanted an introduction.

Umbridge smiled. "Severus," she said. Sweet Salazar, even she could be pleasant when she wanted to be. It had been a day of warm, albeit nervous, greetings from men who normally sneered at Severus. "This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror at the Ministry. Shacklebolt, this is Severus Snape, of Hogwarts Potions Master fame."

Turning his one raised eyebrow on Shacklebolt to indicate his true meaning, Severus laughed loudly and then sneered. "Is this not one of the Aurors once put in charge of finding Sirius Black? Not very capable, if you ask me…"

Shacklebolt gave an almost imperceptible nod and then played along. "Forgive me, Master Snape, but I simply did not desire to catch the man, much to the detriment of my career."

Severus raised his voice. "What can you mean, Umbridge, by bringing such a poor example of an Auror to this meeting?"

Umbridge simpered. "I was made to understand, Severus, that the Aurors had been excluded due to certain fears—"

"Justified fears," Shacklebolt interrupted, loudly, interpreting Severus' actions correctly. "There are some in our ranks—Dawlish, Tonks — who still serve the Ministry's interests first. But I…Well, forgive me, Snape, but was Sirius Black not a great servant of the Dark Lord? As such…"

A hushed silence fell across the room. The Dark Lord's soft instructions to the man kneeling before him —Ademus Brown, was it?— ceased.

"What is this, Severus, you object to some of our guests?"

Severus hoped that Dumbledore had thoroughly tested Shacklebolt's Occlumency. "My Lord," he said, bowing, "I do not mean to intrude, but we have some uninvited guests here… Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister himself… and Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror."

The Dark Lord rose from his throne-like chair in front of the fireplace. He glided down the room; Severus observed his progress sourly. If there was one man whose grace he would never adopt, it was the Dark Lord's. The man moved with a grace that no mortal should possess.

The Dark Lord stopped in front of the short, simpering witch and her Auror companion.

"Latecomers…" the high voice hissed.

The voice seemed to shocked Shacklebolt into action. He bowed deeply. Severus admired the wizard's great acting ability. Dumbledore had chosen well; the man really did play the part of one unused to serving, yet eager to do so.

The Dark Lord stuck out one bony, long-fingered hand, and lifted the wizard's chin up so that their eyes could meet. After a long silence, the Dark Lord smiled. "Very good, Kingsley," he purred.

Turning to the shorter witch, who had imitated Shacklebolt, the Dark Lord paused for a much shorter time. "Hmm," he said. "So you heard of the meeting at the Board of Governor's Review?"

"Yes, my Lord," the simpering woman answered.

The Dark Lord swept around and examined Severus; he pushed at Severus' mind. Severus yielded, just the tiniest bit.

This was no time for a thorough demonstration; Severus went for the briefest summary of his experiences with the woman: her speech at the beginning of the fall term last year; her incompetence dealing with the Weasley-induced swamp on the second floor corridor; her simpering coughs and insufferable pink office.

The slightest smile hovered on the Dark Lord's thin lips; he had no doubt found Severus' irritation with the woman's pink-tastic obsession amusing.

"Hmm," the Dark Lord considered. "In line, then, both of you."

When the Dark Lord was once again back at the front of the room, Severus exchanged a look with Shacklebolt. That had gone very well, indeed. The Dark Lord would remember Shacklebolt now, and if Umbridge came with the territory, so be it.

.

* * *

.

The customary Friday night "Slytherin soirée," as Pansy had named it, was already in full swing when Draco returned from dinner. They had started without him tonight.

The wall slid closed behind him, vibrating with the bass of the music. He stayed close to the entrance wall for a bit, taking in the dynamics. A smirking Pansy was presiding over a large game of 2 Sickles that involved most of the upperclassmen girls. But a couple of girls from fifth and sixth year, Astoria and Daphne included, were sitting by the makeshift bar as if completely oblivious to Pansy's presence in the room.

Spread over the couches, Blaise, too, was holding court. A good crowd of male upperclassmen Slytherins were scattered in the vicinity, chatting idly while trying to listen in on the main conversation.

A giant open snake's jaw had been set up nearer the girls' and boys' dormitory entrances, large enough for a majority of the underclassmen to be crammed inside, dancing, some more awkwardly than others. The roof of the snake's mouth had been inlaid with glittering jewels which shone on occasion. Where there should have been fangs, a pair of flashy speakers hung. Looking carefully around the room, Draco could see that more matching speakers were artfully hidden around the room. No wonder the bass had seemed louder tonight.

Catching sight of Barbary leaning on one side of the snake's head, Draco walked up to him, through the throng of admirers, both girls and boys, all from the first and second years. "Nice speakers."

Barbary smiled broadly. "They were special edition…A gift from my brother. He's the rhythm guitarist for the Weird Sisters."

"I know Heathcote," Draco said shortly.

"Right..right," the boy said, looking chastened.

Draco sighed inwardly. This was no time to be making enemies. "So," he nodded to a band set that had been set up near the entrance to the girls' dormitories, "are you as good as he was? Astoria told me she heard you the other day and she thought you were at least as good…"

Barbary brightened. Draco wondered how this one had been placed into Slytherin. "Not quite," he said, blushing, "I'm alright with rhythm guitar, but I prefer bass, actually."

"You weren't here, but when the Weird Sisters were here fourth year for the Yule Ball, your brother had this excellent solo…" Draco said, attention already drifting. This one would be one of his now, he was sure.

"Yeah." Barbary scratched the back of his head and then grinned enthusiastically. "He's good, isn't he? I think he's the best of the Weird Sisters, personally…Are you friends?"

"Yeah, sure, as much as a first year could have been with a seventh year," Draco said dryly, and then smiled charmingly at the crowd. Through Barbary, he could get the whole bunch to love him, if he did this right. "But who knows? Maybe he'll consent to go out for a drink with us non-celebrities sometime." Draco scanned the group. They were hanging on his every word. Second years were really too easy. He reflected idly on the large age gap between the brothers. Had his mother had ever mentioned anything about the elder Barbary remarrying?

Suddenly, he had just the thing to charm the little suckers. "Say," Draco paused for effect, "did any of you happen to help set up?"

"Yes," one of the first years (Pritchard's little brother, was it?) put in. "What do you need to know, Malfoy sir?"

First years were even easier than second years. "Oh-ho! Malfoy, sir," Draco said, laughing. "Pritchard, is it?"—the boy glowed with pleasure—"Draco's fine… I was wondering if you knew whether anyone had put up the needed Muffling Charms…I wouldn't want Barbary's spanking new speakers to be confiscated…"

Barbary looked concerned, and then said, "Perhaps you could put them up, Dr—Draco?"

"Of course," Draco said. Too easy. "It'd be my pleasure."

.

* * *

It was very late. Only Hermione and a few other sixth and seventh years, mostly Ravenclaws, were still scratching away at their scrolls. Hermione sat in one of the main sections, where she could keep an eye on the door for Harry. She had missed him at dinner; the Quidditch had probably run late— and then Harry had not returned, and had probably started his detention with Snape by now. She supposed she knew better than to expect it…Ginny had probably been at Quidditch…

From the Ancient Runes and Arithmancy sections, the unofficial Ravenclaw section of the library, a couple of loud voices rose and then were quickly hushed. Hermione looked around for Madame Pince. The old woman must have disappeared into the archives in the back. Although she was almost certain the at least one of the Ravenclaw Prefects would be back there, it was Hermione's responsibility as a prefect to check up on it.

Deciding that it was too late for much more work anyway, Hermione packed her things and headed towards the Ravenclaws' spot. It varied from day to day, so she walked slowly along each aisle, checking all the desks shoved in corners, and all the comfortable crannies filled with pillows upon which students —mostly underclassmen— could recline and whisper lightheartedly while pretending to do work.

Across from the "Wenlock" section—a seemingly endless section—of Arithmancy, in an oft-overlooked nook you had to duck down to get into which Hermione had considered using several times herself, Hermione found a boy folded over his chair, slumped over in exhaustion. Madame Pince was not always careful when clearing the library; he would probably get locked in here overnight if he kept sleeping. She was about to shake his shoulder when she realized he was a Slytherin. Lightly poking his shoulder with her wand, she said, "Wake up, the library will close in half an hour."

The boy twitched and then straightened. It was Theo Nott. He looked about in a disoriented fashion, and then focused on Hermione.

"Granger," he said, toneless.

"Nott," she replied, turning to duck back through the narrow entrance.

But for the second time today, she was stopped with a Slytherin hand. "Granger," Nott said. "Stay away from Draco. He does not need it."

She looked at him incredulously. "You think I've been seeking out Draco?"

Nott returned her gaze impassively. "You did not seem to mind working with him last night."

The note from Transfiguration rose up in Hermione's mind. Was Nott behind it? "He's good at Astronomy," Hermione snapped.

There was a silence. Hermione fumed. Sometimes it amazed her how, despite years of purported "equality" between witches and wizards, the relations between wizards and witches were still fraught with the same poisonous stereotypes and implications about men and women. She refused to believe that it was innate, that a society must develop these customs and ideas. Instead, she felt it was just another symptom of the wizarding world's puzzling inertial attachment to the past; both societies descended, after all, from a time when the worlds were not separated. But currently, Hermione thought, despite the longer history of social, political and economic inequality for women in the Muggle world, it was Muggle women who were more empowered than their witch counterparts.

Suddenly, Nott broke the silence with an extremely amused-sounding, low chuckle. "No, he is not," he said, measuring each phrase out with pauses. "Not this year." Another low chuckle.

"I didn't ask him to work with me, if that's what you're implying," Hermione said. "I believe that Sinistra asked us to work together on Tuesday, and last night he asked me."

But Nott did not pick up on her heated tone. "I was not implying anything, Granger. I was merely asking you to stay away from Draco, for his sake. Please."

"So that today's lunch doesn't repeat itself?" she said acidly.

Nott met her gaze evenly. "Precisely," he said.

Hermione struggled with herself for a moment. She lost to her curiosity. "What happened, exactly?"

Pausing, Nott seemed to consider. Then, nodding, he explained, "Draco called Pansy, among other things, a cheap whore."

"That's all?" asked Hermione sharply.

"Well, no," said Nott. Then, he continued at an even slower pace, "But that is the long and the short of it."

Hermione started at the phrase "the long and the short." Of course, she thought. "The Long Wand and Short Witch" had been the name of a particularly famous wizarding pub and brothel, run by Ethel Parkinson and her husband, in ages old. The Parkinsons were perfectly respectable now, but it was a mark on their past. Shivering at Malfoy's meanness, she said, "That's terrible."

Another low chuckle from the black-haired, broad-shouldered Nott. "No," he said. "She deserved it."

Bitterness rose in Hermione on Pansy's behalf. "Nobody deserves to be called a whore, especially someone whose family…"

"Oh yes, she did," Nott interrupted, unperturbed by Hermione's anger. "She asked Malfoy if you were paying him per hour, like an escort, or if he was doing it for free."

His black eyes studied Hermione's face for a reaction. Shocked, she was momentarily speechless. "Still," Hermione said, trying to blink back tears. "Pansy is a girl—as it stands, it is doubly hurtful to call a girl a whore."

Nott remained silent. "Perhaps," he said. In a lower voice, as if, for the first time, he was afraid of being overheard, he continued, "I can see why Draco likes to work with you…And Merlin knows he needs a boost in Astronomy…So put two and two together, Granger. I know you can, because word on the street is that you, Hermione Granger, are the brightest witch of a generation."

He waved his wand casually at his things, and plodded off, nodding at her as he left.

At the back aisle, he turned, as if he just knew that Hermione would still be standing there, trying to process everything. "Oh, and Granger, good showing in Defense the other day."

.

* * *

.

It was a good party. Not for the first time, Draco pitied especially the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who both, for reasons related to their house characteristics, could throw only imitations of a true, rebellious, hormone-fueled party. He had been to a couple Ravenclaw parties, and though they were pleasant enough, on the whole Ravenclaws were too logical to lose it entirely, and too intellectual to wish to. Invariably, their parties centered on puzzles, board games… And Hufflepuffs…Well, Draco thought, the whole point of the party was for the best to strut their stuff, and the rest to watch admiringly. Needless to say, what with their affability and such, the Hufflepuff idea of a party was an inclusive feel-good happy-fest.

Sure enough, when Draco checked, nobody had remembered to put up Muffling Charms. It was useful to be useful, in a sense. Draco had always made sure that when he did do work, no one else could do it in his absence. In this case, it was a simply an absence of thought; during his third year, the seventh years had shown him which areas were most susceptible to detection, and since then Draco had never told anyone else. Most Slytherins were completely unaware that their common room's placement under the Great Lake meant that disturbing pipes which led directly to McGonagall's rooms.

And so the first two hours of the party passed. Draco crept around, surreptitiously placing the Charms up. He observed with interest that neither Pansy nor Blaise had talked to each other all evening, and that for the most part, couples aside, girls and boys in the upper forms were assiduously avoiding each other. When he had finished with the Charms, he sent Crabbe and Goyle into Blaise's circle to fetch out some of his better friends—Montague, Harper… The atmosphere tonight was incredibly tense, what with he, Pansy, and Blaise all not talking to each other, but Draco felt that he would have a good time. The news had gone around the Twycross was sick and there would be no Apparition tomorrow, so the sixth years, who normally had to watch themselves lest they vomit mid-Apparition and splinch themselves the next morning, participated in the heavy drinking.

But another two hours later, not even the sight of Astoria dancing on makeshift bar-top with her friends in her pretty dark green dress with a scooping neckline could tempt him to stay at the party. Theo had come in, observed the dynamics along the wall just as Draco had, and, nodding only briefly at Draco, made his way directly to Blaise's side. With that, Draco's appetite for celebration had bottomed out to zero.

Now there was only thing that he wanted to know, and for that Theo had implied he needed his Father. So, Draco was about to put his all his hard work this year to personal use.

.

* * *

.

The empty corridors were eerily quiet to Draco. His ears still rung with the loud, booming bass that Barbary's speakers had been emitting nonstop. He turned to Goyle. "Not a sound," he reminded his friend, tapping the large boy on the head with a Disillusionment Charm. As a prefect, he could viably wander the halls until midnight. Not so Gregory.

When he had opened the Room of Requirement, this time with a hidden wall exterior, and the ability to look out from within, he cast a blindfold over Goyle and then pulled him inside. "Look, Gregory," Draco said, trying to keep it simple. "I've got to run an errand. For your sake, it's better you don't know what it is…No one who isn't me will be able to get in. Promise me you'll stay here and you won't take the blindfold off."

Goyle grumbled.

"Or," Draco said, "I could make you stand outside, Disillusioned, for the next—"

"—Okay, okay," Goyle agreed.

"Good, I won't be gone long." Draco shoved a small bag of pumpkin pasties he had nicked at the party into Goyle's hands. He briskly made his way to the Cabinet. He drew his wand, and then stepped in. When he had reached Borgin's shop, he stepped out and intentionally triggered the intruder alarm.

Borgin was there within the minute. "Why, you little…"

Draco held up his wand horizontally between thumb and forefinger, a signal for "don't cast". "Not so fast, Borgin," Draco said. "I needed to get out of the castle."—He nodded at the object he had touched to set the alarm off—"I triggered it. Wait for my return."

He had already began to focus for Apparition, when Borgin interrupted,"I don't take orders from little…"

Draco whipped around, focusing his wand on the greasy man. "Listen, old man," he said threateningly. "You may think that just because you've sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord, you are now my equal…But it would behoove you to remember that Lucius Malfoy, my father, did not become one of the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenants by taking equal abuse, and neither will I! Remember who my aunt is, shopkeeper."

The greasy storekeeper quailed under Draco's gaze. "Of course, of course, Master Draco," he said obsequiously.

.

* * *

.

This was a smaller room; no less grand, but smaller still. Severus reclined comfortably on the dark leather couch. He fingered the black spots on the Nundu skin which was draped over the armrest and idly swirled his wine.

Narcissa broke the silence. "Draco…How is he?"

"Good. Very good. He has been more far more successful than any of us anticipated…"

"Especially you," sneered Bellatrix, mouth twisted as if her wine was particularly sour. "You were so helpful."

"I admit that the boy did not trust me. It seems, Bellatrix, that his mind was poisoned against me. I would have provided him with every assistance, if he had only come to me—"

"So you could claim the credit? Draco serves proudly, knowing—"

"Bella, please," intervened Narcissa.

After a pause, Narcissa picked up the thread of conversation again. "An excellent meeting…"

Bellatrix did not agree. "They do not deserve to serve him; where were they twenty years ago, when the Dark Lord first rose? Cowering behind their fortunes, thinking they could pay their way out of danger…"

"No more than they will be doing this time," said Lucius from beside his wife. "The Dark Lord does not seriously consider them as servants; but their gold…Why else, Bella, would I have been traveling so these past few months, wanted as I am?"

"Then why must he Mark them? Better to—"

"It was my idea, Bella," Lucius soothed. "So they understand, this time, that it is not just their money that they are responsible for. They must pledge over their lives…"

A sound not unlike a sob sounded from Narcissa. She sniffed twice rapidly in succession, as if trying to control hyperventilation. Then, in a low, controlled voice which trembled only slightly, she said,"Lucius, you said that you needed to talk to Severus…"

Her husband drew an elegant hand up to his collar, flicking invisible dust off it. "Ah, yes. Severus, you wanted to know if you could borrow a certain set of cuff links."

Narcissa drew in a sharp breath. A silence. Severus took the opportunity to further examine Lucius Malfoy. The change in his appearance in the past week was quite incredible. The Dark Lord must have been quite pleased, indeed, at Draco's success. Lucius' hair was regaining some of its normal sheen. Just a week ago, even the ivory buttons on his pristinely tailored robes had seemed worn. Now they shined with evidence of Polishing Charms.

Lucius looked curiously at Narcissa, and then continued. "I looked for them carefully, but could not find them…"

But there was no more time to discuss it; a shadow was at the doorway. Everyone rose quickly and bowed as the Dark Lord entered the room. Severus cast the counter-spell to Muffliato.

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Very clever, Severus, that spell. We shall have to talk about it. I apologize, my friends, I was detained by one of the latecomers…Dolores Umbridge. She came in with the Auror… Tell me, Lucius, do you know the Umbridges? An unfamiliar name to me, I must confess…"

"Social climbers. Pure-bloods, but barely," provided Lucius. "Her mother was 'home schooled,' but we know what that actually means." The unspoken implication of 'Squib' hung in the air for a second as Lucius took another sip of his wine. "Quite surprising the children turned out to be wizards, considering…Before the current generation's rise in the Ministry, they were as poor as the Weasleys. Dolores is particularly ambitious; under Fudge, she was especially powerful. But of course you have heard of her efforts at Hogwarts…"

"I saw in her mind that she shares my hatred for half-breeds…She was a loyal servant to Fudge, it seems."

Severus' lip curled at this description; surely the Dark Lord could not mean to accept her to his ranks?

"But of course, you had a rather low opinion of the witch, Severus."

"She is an incompetent fool," Severus said harshly. He paused, and then felt it necessary to add something. "She serves no one but herself, my lord, no matter how she represents her history. Recall, if you will, that she was Fudge's right hand. Yet now he is gone, and she has survived him. She is not one to follow the stars as they fall."

It was a mark of the Dark Lord's faith in Severus that this latest sentence did not incite a reminder of his own failings as a servant. The Dark Lord merely nodded and then moved easily to the empty chair nearest the fireplace which had deliberately been left empty. "So, Severus. Remind us why you stayed my hand last Sunday when I was about to give out the order for the attack…You do remember that so long as the old fool lives, Potter remains untouchable?"

Unfurling a scroll upon which he had drawn a map of Hogwarts castle, Severus surreptitiously glanced at the three others in the room. Bellatrix sat upright on her end of the couch, paying rapt attention to the Dark Lord's every word. In contrast, Lucius and Narcissa sought to look at ease, but their hands were joined together in a tight grip, knuckles white from strain. You owe me, both of you, Severus thought, for what I am about to do, for what I promised you to do for you on behalf of your little boy. A casual flick of Severus' wand raised a three-dimensional rendering of the castle, which then began to rotate slowly over the scroll from whence it came.

"The castle is not as easy to attack as it seems, even with the special entrance as Draco has provided us," said Severus. "Order members patrol the corridors and grounds, and Dumbledore's office," he set a small light to shimmer at the appropriate tower, "is hard to reach from the Room of Requirement." Another light. "Further, when caught in a corner, Dumbledore has only to extend his hand and catch his phoenix's tail to escape to safety…"

"But surely, with surprise on our side, Severus," interrupted Bellatrix, "we could have—"

"Silence, Bella," said the Dark Lord. "Continue, Severus."

"Are you not excited for your nephew to prove himself, Bellatrix? To prove his devotion? Such a moment…If we had acted then, we may have succeeded, but Draco surely would not have…"

"I thought you said the boy was talented, Severus?"

"So he is, my lord, and yet…are there any among us, besides you yourself, my lord, who could have faced Dumbledore at sixteen? Dumbledore may be old, now, battle-weary, but he has knowledge that Draco can only dream — oh yes, Bella! Again, you doubt his skills, but then again, you have not had a chance to understand Dumbledore as I — "

"Understand him! What, are you such fast friends with —"

"Enough! Bella, Lucius, leave," hissed the Dark Lord. Looking stricken, Bellatrix bowed and then walked quickly out of the room, as if leaving faster would lessen her embarrassment. Lucius and Narcissa rose also, bowing deeply. Narcissa gave Severus a pleading look that Severus could not quite interpret as she and her husband bowed once more and then closed the door behind them.

"Continue."

"To prevent Dumbledore from escaping, we must lure him into a trap — he must suspect that Potter, or his other students are your true target. He must be lured to a place away from the other Order members…a place with narrow access, one of the higher Towers perhaps. And there, Draco will await him…"

"You do not wish to finish the old fool off yourself, Severus?" asked the Dark Lord silkily.

A dangerous question. "I wish for Draco to try, my lord. He has worked all year for this…"

A silence. "Do you care for the boy, Severus?"

With effort, Severus succumbed, just slightly, to the tugging at the edges of his mind as he met his master's eye. "I…perhaps," he said as he called forth memories of Draco over the years: the admiration in the boy's eyes as he proclaimed Severus worthy of being Headmaster; that brilliant smile he wore when he beat Diggory to the Snitch in his third year; the bright red of Draco's blood seeping across on the sixth-floor bathroom floor… He broke off eye contact, and said, in a low voice. "I have taught children all my life, but Draco is…special…"

"So you do care for the boy." The Dark Lord was amused. "But then, you have always been sentimental…I recall your fondness for the Potter boy's mother. Still, I commend you your taste…the poor woman proved a formidable opponent in her own ways, at the end. And Draco, I see, is more clever than I gave him credit for…Very well, Severus. We shall have it your way. May, you said? You are certain?"

"Yes, my lord. The Order is preparing for what happens if the war spreads….They will be sending out envoys; before they tried the Giants. They will be shorter-handed."

"Good…good. I will be out of the country again, for the next month or so…I must research something of great importance. I entrust the plan of the attack to you, Severus. You may return to Hogwarts. Please send Bella in."

Severus bowed low to his master, this man who had captivated him so once when he was young. "My lord."

Upon his exit, Severus was immediately accosted by Lucius, Narcissa at his side.

He cut off Lucius before a word could be spoken. "Where is Bellatrix? The Dark Lord has need of her."

"Of course," Lucius said. "Cissy, if you please…"

Narcissa looked nervously between her husband and the Potions Master, and then left in search of her sister.

"Shall we?" Lucius said. He led the way into the Malfoy library, but without stopping, he swept up to a portrait and bowed. The portrait opened into a small chamber, where two other portraits observed them. Lucius swept in, and when the first portrait had closed so they were entirely alone, he bowed to the one on the right. This portrait swung open slowly.

Severus stepped in warily. Books lined the walls. Secret rooms in pureblood Manors often had all types of secret traps.

Lucius laughed. "Come now, Severus, you need not be scared of me." He motioned to a dainty, pale beige chaise, and then, pouring two glasses of port, levitated them over, and reclined on the one opposite Severus. "This is the Family Library," Lucius said. "Blood-warded, blood-bound. We keep our Family Histories here."

"No doubt I would die the moment you left me here."

Lucius nodded. "Yes, well, our ancestors were rather…security-obsessed. Still, it is not a good place to hide Dark Objects…the portraits are rather obvious…"

Lucius grew serious. "I brought you here to further discuss the previous matter…Severus, I was certain I had left them at Gringott's," he said. "I had brought them there prior to the fiasco at the Ministry…call it a certain amount of foresight, if you will. It took me several days to contrive of a way to enter Gringott's without trouble—but when I got there, imagine my surprise to find not a trace of them. Simply gone."

He turned to Severus. "So now I must ask you, Severus, have you seen them?"

Severus had thought as much. "Draco wears them now," Severus said. "It is Narcissa's doing."

Lucius set down his glass, looking into it intently. "She would have…" he breathed in realization. "She has free roam, still, you know. Unwatched by the Ministry. She could have gone any time….Of course…so simple."

"She doesn't know," Severus accused.

"She would have wanted them destroyed."

"Then you should have destroyed them," said Severus.

Lucius turned, pleading, towards Severus. "They are the last relics we have of Merlin…"

"So you were told," retorted Severus. "There is no evidence, no history… just a legend passed down from one family member to another…"

Lucius rose rapidly. "You would not understand," he hissed. "You are only a half-blood…What do you know of our customs?"

Severus said nothing.

Suddenly, the portrait door swung open and the other two members of the Malfoy family joined them. Draco walked forward. "Father, Professor."

Lucius caught hold of one of Draco's arms and pressed the robes down. There, fastening the two sides together, was a silver snake. "_Mobilius,_" Lucius hissed.

The snakes did not move.

Lucius stared in shock at the snakes for a second, and then turned on Narcissa. "You could have told me—"

"—told you what?" she said, shrill, not giving an inch. "You wouldn't even ask Severus to look after—"

"—removed from Gringotts without my permission! You have no idea, Cissy, how dangerous—"

"—still in Azkaban! What was I to—"

"_Silencio!_" It was Draco. He quickly released the charm, looking apologetically at his parents.

Severus swept up to Draco and gripped him by the shoulder. "Come, we will let your parents discuss."

Lucius gave Severus a small nod. Narcissa gazed only at her husband.

"But I need to talk to Father—"

"Not now, Draco," Lucius said curtly. "Easter week is soon. Come home for Easter."

Draco mutinously looked from one adult to the other. Neither of his parents would look at him. Severus nodded at him, and the two made their way out, Draco bowing appropriately for exit in the small outside chamber.

Severus turned to the boy the minute they had reached the main library. "How did you get here?"

"The Cabinet," Draco said sullenly.

The idea appealed to Severus. He would be saved the long trek up to the castle from the gates. He looked down his hooked nose at Draco. "I will follow you," he said.

Back through the Manor's long corridors they went, Severus guiding the boy with one hand on his back through the many rooms, still crowded with all manner of visitors, high and low. Draco made the necessary gestures—How do you do, Governor Meliflua—Severus the necessary excuses—Oh yes, Rookwood, Draco is here with me— back down the long driveway hedged on both sides they went until they were clear of temporary whole-estate anti-Apparition wards the Dark Lord had put up. Back into Borgin's shop they Apparated—my, my, what had the boy said to the man to merit such courteous treatment—and, using the Cabinet and its sickening means of travel—he may not have chosen this route, had he known beforehand—they arrived in the Room of Requirement. Severus gazed, with some well-earned awe, at the many objects in the room. It was truly magnificent.

Draco took off; he the corridors like the back of his hand. He wove his way around. Passing a cupboard with a wig on top of it, Severus caught sight of something he had not thought still existed in the world.

Good thing the boy was walking fast, not looking back. Severus slipped the glittering object into his robe pocket.

At the door, Draco shook awake a slumbering Goyle, gently taking the empty of bag out of his hands. "It's time to go, Gregory," he whispered. Goyle grudgingly rose to his feet, stifling a yawn.

Together, Severus and Draco looked out through the shimmering, magical glass onto the empty seventh floor corridor.

"Clever," said Severus.

"Hardly." Draco laughed bitterly. "I had Crabbe and Goyle guard the Room all year before realizing that I could do this."

"Still," said Severus, opening the door and stepping out. Draco turned and removed the large boy's blindfold. "Filch may be about…I will walk you to the Common Room."

As they approached, Draco began to look nervous. Nearing the Common Room, Severus understood. From the sound of it—no doubt already muffled greatly— the children were still making merry. "Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Professor."

.

* * *

.

When Hermione tucked in that night, she was the only upperclassman who was not downstairs at the Gryffindor party. The upperclassmen were making good on their last weeks of freedom before they had to really starting studying for O.W.L.S and N.E.W.T.S.. But though in theory she should have felt like joining in on the celebration, Hermione felt unaccountably sour, something she had not realized until Theo Nott had pointedly studied her, waiting for a reaction after he told her Pansy's words.

Her late return to the Common Room had meant that the party was already in full swing when she entered. It was a raucous, drunken festivity, a little worse than usual. Various members of the Quidditch team were leaping drunkenly from table to table, urged on by their peers. Calmer by a bit were Ginny, Harry and Katie Bell, recently returned and glowing with health, who were animatedly and loudly discussing Quidditch by the entrance to the girls' dormitories. Parvati and Neville played Exploding Snap against Seamus and Dean, all of them laughing uproariously with each turn. Meanwhile, Cormac lead a drunken rendition of "She's my witch-friend" with some of the other seventh years. And in an armchair by the fireplace, Lavender sat upon Ron's lap, making true Ginny's mock prediction despite the events in the library earlier that evening.

In other words, a common Friday night scene, one which had no doubt benefited from Hermione's absence. Any other night, she might have smiled at the sight even while preparing to break up the party, but instead, even more bitterness rose up in Hermione's heart. She could not incite herself to do anything but retreat into her dormitory, curtains drawn, Silencing Charms placed around her, books scattered about her to encourage her distraction from her feelings.

She attempted to analyze her feelings, the way she always did. But tonight, she could neither tie down her dissatisfaction to the current state of Ron's relationship with Lavender. Nor could she blame it on stray remarks from Slytherins, or overwork, though both, she supposed were partially to blame. But she knew it was something deeper.

Perhaps, Hermione thought, it was not so much a new problem as an evolution of what had been her problem since first year: no friends to pour her heart out to. She wasn't friendless by any means. But though Harry and Ron were as loyal and dear friends as a person could ask for, Hermione had always been alone, in a sense. Alone, searching in the library for answers second year. Alone, third year hiding in dark corners where she could turn her time-turner the appropriate amount. Alone, fourth year, perhaps by choice, not confiding in Harry how she felt about Ron, and then getting to know Viktor. In ways, her friendship with the boys had always been fraught with secrets, and even more so since fourth year when whatever had arisen between Ron and herself had grown to a tangible tension. She could no more confront Ron about it than ask Harry to be her guide and confidante. And Ginny, her closest female friend, was Ron's sister. Nor, Hermione thought bitterly, could she confide in her parents, though they were dear. What could she tell them of the dangers she faced in the wizarding world?

Her current state then, Hermione deduced, would be due to the new circumstances which had once again forced distance between herself and Harry especially: the incident with Malfoy in the Room of Requirement. It had taken over her life; her evenings were spent with Snape, or, ironically, with Malfoy in the Astronomy Tower as partners. And secrets, Hermione knew, could eat at a person's friendships. Especially secrets such as these. Understanding forming in her mind of a professor that Harry hated—perhaps rightfully. Pity forming in her heart for a boy Death Eater that Harry had suspected—rightfully—of engineering a grand plot. These were experiences that she could she share with nobody, but every night they grew. It formed a part of her consciousness that was growing rapidly, overshadowing everything else.

How would she even begin, Hermione wondered, to tell Harry about her conversation with Nott in the library tonight? How would it start?

But it wouldn't, Hermione understood then. She would not start to tell Harry. She could not.

.

* * *

.

That night, Hermione had a dream. Like many of her dreams, it began in a library, with a search for some new knowledge. But, no matter how hard she looked, she could not find it. And after a while, no matter how hard she thought, she could no longer remember what it was.

She woke up, breathing hard, the next morning. And suddenly, her dream crystallized in her mind. The library, she realized, is full of knowledge that can be known. Knowledge of the mind. But what of the secrets of the human heart?

They can be there too, of course. Hidden in diaries published long after their master's deaths, and gems of truth uttered by characters written into fiction books. Spelled out as wisdom in memoirs, teased out as facts by biographers. But there is a reason each successive generation feels that pain as they grow, that desperation. Some secrets can hardly be told in words, and never in books.

For these can only be said, face to face, eye to eye. And only in the moment they are said can they be understood.

.

.

* * *

A/N: Please, don't be impatient! I know that the Hermione and Draco move at a glacial pace... In any case, I really do enjoy writing Umbridge. Luckily, she has a part to play later -raa

**kraco:** Thank you so much for the review!

**SoulessXWarrior:** There will be more girl fights, if you like that sort of thing! Yes, "he" is Blaise.

**SoulessXWarrior: **Oh yay! I am glad you are intrigued by what is going on with Theo and Blaise and the rest of the Slytherins. That will be illuminated...at some point! Voldemort was rather patient with these two specific latecomers, seeing as neither technically had knowledge of the meeting until they found out about it at the Board of Governor's meeting. I think he rather enjoyed torturing a few of the other latecomers who had been sent invitations though! Hope that clears that up.

**Silvana:** Yes, it is Blaise! Theo's motivations for siding with Blaise against Draco-it's the thing Harry witnessed in the first part of "the Outside World."

**FallenStar22:** I personally think the Theo/Draco scene is more interesting too hehe. D/Hr are still warming up to each other...and will be for quite a while.

**FallenStar22:** Oh no! What was confusing? I don't have a beta so I love helpful comments like that.

**LCB:** Perhaps this chapter clears up Theo's motivations a little? But the chapter after next should reveal what happened at the Slytherin table during lunch...


	7. Encounters

**Chapter 6: Encounters **

_In which Hermione does some serious thinking and Draco makes a chart  
_

.

.

Saturday brunch. It was a sullen affair at the Slytherin table this morning, with most of the upperclassmen quietly nursing their hangovers. Whatever it was between Pansy and Blaise that had caused them to ignore each other last night had clearly been resolved, because they were the only two Slytherins who seemed to have any talk in them; they sat together, chatting with animation, while all around them, people stared dully at their plates, and in some cases, cast Silencing Charms so they wouldn't have to hear the chatter. Draco chose a seat far away, almost on the edge of the "center" where anybody who was anybody sat, and studiously avoided Theo's glances, though the boy had sought him out to talk this morning in the bathrooms. He didn't want to think about Theo and the question he didn't get to ask his father on last night.

Looking across the hall, Draco saw that the Gryffindor table was surprisingly empty, even for a Saturday morning. The Hufflepuff table too, but everyone knew that was because the Hufflepuffs baked every Saturday morning; their common room was the only one equipped with to do so. Draco noticed Granger walking in with a group of underclassmen, smiling graciously as they followed her to the center of the table. The admiration in their eyes was clear.

Draco had always liked to look at a beautiful woman. It soothed a man to watch soft, full lips curve up in a modest smile, to examine slender hands gesturing just so, to follow the long line of an elegant neck down to the collar bone and wonder what it would be like to press his lips to the hollow there. Since most of the Slytherins were pushing their food around on their plate moodily, he allowed himself to contemplate Granger in that mode of atheistic appreciation, letting his frustration fade as he watched her.

At a motion from one of the first years sitting with her, Granger turned and looked him straight in the eye. Draco returned her gaze impassively, but then decided to smile with just the slightest edge of predatory interest. Predictably, Granger blushed. She turned away and fidgeted with her fork.

She looked simply delicious, the blush in her cheeks diffusing prettily as it spread. Now all Draco had to do was figure out why he had decided to smile at her like that just now, and why her blush had called to mind a most welcome vision of Granger, body flushed and bare, post-sex, and looking at him shyly just like that.

.

* * *

Hermione lingered in the dining hall long after most of the other tables had cleared, talking with the only other Gryffindor students who had shown up to brunch this morning: the underclassmen. She was trying hard to distract herself from what had made her unhappy last night, which was namely everything. It was enough to make one wish that Apparition class had not been canceled, despite its occurrence at a disgusting hour of the morning, even for Hermione. From behind her, she heard a dry cough.

"Granger." It was Snape.

Hermione rose and turned. "Professor," she said, ducking her head down in politeness. The first years who had been sitting with her nodded nervously and then shifted down the table, far away from the menacing Defense Professor.

"Are you ready for today's lessons?" he said in a low voice.

"Yes, I think so," Hermione said, feeling a little cheered at the prospect of learning.

Snape seemed to notice a change in her mood and raised an eyebrow, but then swept away. Hermione dutifully followed.

They walked through the corridors in silence, thought Snape seemed to step up the pace when they reached the dungeon and walked through the corridor with flickering lights. He muttered something about incompetence and Filch before they turned into a brighter part.

At the door of Snape's office, they ran into a pacing Draco Malfoy, who greeted their Professor with, "Shall we continue with—" before stopping abruptly when he saw Hermione there. He looked at her intently for a moment, and Hermione suddenly shivered from—well, she didn't know it was—excitement or fear as she recollected the contemplative look he had given her this morning, as if he were assessing artwork. He turned to go, and then whipped around again, this time with a visible sneer on his face. "Detention again, Granger?"

She frowned a little, nodded, and then walked into Snape's office, leaving the two Slytherins outside. A few moments later, Snape entered, face a blank mask as usual. "Shall we?"

A few hours later, Snape nodded, finally satisfied, it seemed, with her progress in blocking out his attacks. They had worked on the subjects of Harry, Ron and Snape himself, and tomorrow they would be working on her memories of her parents and Malfoy. He pointed to a stack of scrolls and a quill he had placed there with red ink. "Good," he said, "Now, grade."

Hermione sighed and started on the scrolls, wondering if it was even fair to other students to have her grade.

.

* * *

After the stupidly long meeting at Malfoy Manor yesterday, Severus was quite behind. At least Miss Granger was useful for some things. In fact, Severus had to admit that even including her almost nightly Occlumency sessions, she had been a net positive for his productivity. He still had to work over her marks, but it made grading essays infinitely easier when she had already scribbled down helpful comments everywhere, often in ways far nicer than he could manage. Most often, he had to revise her tentative scores down; she was too lenient. He stretched and considered the case of Hermione Granger. Today's session had been most insightful, his brief glimpses into her friendship with Harry and Ron confirming what he had long suspected about the girl: she was lonely.

His thoughts were interrupted by her clear, inquiring voice. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

Granger rustled the fourth years' scrolls. "Are you sure I should take off for any factual errors I see? What if they aren't pertaining to the problem they were asked to answer. Incidental errors, as you will."

"Deduct the points."

"Right." The girl returned to her grading.

He returned to his musings while slowly working over some of the revised essays the most studious sixth years, namely, the Ravenclaws, had turned in early. Granger was a brilliant student, Snape had long ago admitted to himself. Logical, hard-working, and above all, quick. It was impossible to work out if fate chosen her to be Potter's friend, or if it had just happened.

His thoughts were interrupted again. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"What if it's incidental and it's neither right nor wrong, just unproven? It seems harsh…especially with a common wizarding myth like this one. I remember once Ron even bet—"

"Deduct the points."

"Right."

There it was again, her internal justice. Severus was particularly good at putting an end to any rebellion in the classroom, but quite a few times, after the fact, when he was no longer irritated, he had admired Granger's manner of accounting his lack of impartiality with regard to Potter. Ah, another false deduction by Entwhistle. He marked it off happily, and this brought thoughts of why Granger, who seemed a perfectionist, would tolerate incidental errors. It was more than internal justice, perhaps. More like an excess of mercy.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Astoria Greengrass is technically wrong when she quotes this, but it was wrong in the previous edition of the textbook, and she—"

"Deduct the points."

Granger seemed to sigh. "Right."

Severus awarded Entwhistle a Poor, a step up from his Dreadful on the previous version, and wrote across the top, "Barely a revision. Next time, try not to cry on your scroll." He moved on to the next victim. And then the next, and the next, counting how many essays he could grade before her next interruption. But a long silence from Granger proceeded after the Greengrass conversation, as if she had finally worked out all her difficulties deducting points.

As Severus began to work on another sub-par essay, this time from Brocklehurst, Granger interrupted again. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Do you suppose I could go to dinner now?"

He paused, amused. And then waited a little longer to make her uncomfortable. "Of course. Why don't you come a little earlier tomorrow, say after brunch? Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Good evening, Professor."

Severus finished the latest paper and awarded Brocklehurst an Acceptable, almost writing across the top, "Better than your boyfriend's, but not by much." Instead, thinking that perhaps he was picking up some of Miss Granger's traits, he wrote, "Talk to Granger about the difference between spell adjustments on spells with velocity and spells of circumference."  
.

* * *

_._

Sunday afternoon. Hermione walked slowly down the stairs towards Snape's office. Her mood had barely changed all weekend; yesterday during her 'detention' with Snape she had been briefly cheered, but after dinner, she had worked alone again in the library and returned to the common room to see that the Gryffindors had once again taken advantage of her absence to throw another large, rowdy party. They were playing host to a three-House fest, and almost everyone was extremely drunk.

Once again Hermione had not had it in her to play the responsible prefect, and this morning, yet again, most of the Gryffindor upperclassmen had decided to sleep in. She sat with the same first and second years from yesterday, but even their curious minds, innocence, and clear respect for her could not lift the unhappy air from her. All weekend, she had been strangely unproductive, her thoughts going round and round.

On the final landing before she reached the dungeons, Hermione looked up from her thoughts to see a large group of sixth and seventh year Slytherins coming up the stairs. Some of them held brooms, so they were probably headed for an impromptu Quidditch match. She scooted to the side to let them pass.

"Hey Granger," Pansy stepped out from the crowd, "we're going to play Quidditch now. You want to come? I heard from Draco that you like to play ride the broomstick."

The group let out heady cheers and a few jeers. Hermione flushed but held eye contact with Pansy. Why, oh why, had Dumbledore made her a prefect?

"Oh, I forgot. Granger doesn't like to fly. Draco, darling, where are you? Maybe you should lend Granger your broom so she can learn. It's a shame for such a know-it-all to be bad at something, you know."

The Slytherins laughed harder, especially a few of the girls. First the note in Transfiguration, then this. What was going on between Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins? Hermione searched through the faces for Malfoy's. His face was expressionless. But when she met his eyes, a wicked glint entered them and he sneered. He held out his Nimbus. "Want a ride on my broom, Granger?"

Hermione blinked in surprise, and then scowled before she could help herself. She tried to start down the stairs, but found her way blocked by Vaisey and Harper. She subtly shifted her hand inside her robes to grasp her wand.

"Not so fast, Mudblood," one of the seventh year boys behind her called out. "Don't you know you should respect your superiors?"

Another one said, "Tell me she usually dresses better than that for your little fuck dates, Draco."

"How is she, Draco? Bet she's a tight little virgin," a seventh year girl joined in.

Malfoy stepped forward and motioned to Vaisey and Harper to move aside. The Slytherins fell silent. It was clear that they expected Malfoy to do something, probably curse her. He was tightly coiled, like a cobra ready to strike. Hermione couldn't help but step backwards. Malfoy sneered again. "Scared, Granger? You shouldn't be. I've seen all I could ever want to see." He looked her up and down with deliberation, as if he really had seen her in a more intimate circumstance. "Run along to your little afternoon detention now, little Mudblood." He gestured down the stairs.

Yet another seventh year boy whooped. "Sunday…afternoon delight!" He whooped again.

Suspecting that Malfoy would jinx her the moment she turned her back, Hermione cast a silent Supersensory Charm. Clutching her bag tightly to her shoulder with her other hand, she began to step down the stairs, head held high.

"Go on, Draco, get her!" she heard that same boy say.

At the second to the last step, she heard the slight shuffle of robes which indicated the raising of a wand, or wands. "_Protego!_" Hermione cried, spinning around. Everyone held their breaths as two jinxes headed towards Hermione. The first, a luminescent black beam of light from Zabini, bounced off Hermione's shield and erupted against the wall, leaving a black burn. The second, a pimple jinx from Pansy, rebounded off Hermione's shield onto Malfoy, who had also constructed a shield, and then hit Zabini. Pansy must have been feeling especially venomous, because large boils erupted all over Zabini's exposed skin. He gasped in pain.

Pansy looked torn between running over to Zabini and hitting Hermione with another jinx. Malfoy eyed Hermione's wand warily, his shield still raised. The other Slytherins were too stunned to respond. She heard one of the girls whisper, "But I heard that she was bad at Divination…"

Satisfied, Hermione was just about to go, when she thought of something to say. She turned to Pansy. "If you're ditching that one," here she motioned at Malfoy, "for this one," she pointed at Zabini, "I would suggest you reconsider. That one has better skin."

Hermione finished walking down the stairs and turned into the corridor with the faulty torches. At the darkest part of hallway, she saw Snape standing alongside one wall. He nodded at her, and raised his hands up, clapping them together twice. Then he said, "Ten points to Gryffindor for excellent magical and verbal defense."

.

* * *

.

A few hours later, Hermione wondered if Professor Snape regretted awarding any points to Gryffindor as she demonstrated repeatedly her inability to repel his attacks when he searched her mind for memories that pertained to Malfoy. She had easily enough repelled all levels of attacks on her parents. But when Snape began testing her mind for memories of Malfoy, Hermione began to fail with alarming frequency.

As was typical, Snape gave her very little time to recover, so that Hermione was forced to think while trying to defend herself. What she had worked out so far was that her conflicted feelings towards Malfoy, and the freshness of so many of the incidents between them, were contributing to her difficulties. With Harry or Ron, or even her parents, there were plenty of dangerous memories, but there were many sweet, innocent ones too, and she was mostly able to hide behind a vague impression of them, or select a memory which made it easy to return to a blank, emotionless state.

Not so with Malfoy. Her incident with Malfoy in the Room of Requirement had begun a week-long reassessment of him. Every time Hermione successfully tamped down a memory, another one appeared to take its place. She had no sooner blocked Snape from Malfoy's sneering face atop his bound form in the Room of Requirement, than she began to relive their many interesting conversations during Astronomy. And when she had finally kept Snape from those, their strange encounter in the library and the note in Transfiguration cropped up instead. But most disturbing of all was a catalog of little looks Draco Malfoy had given her which she hadn't even noticed until Snape called them up in succession. They were little discreet looks he had given her while they working on Astronomy, or when they passed in the hallway this week, but all of them had the same almost-predatory quality as the one he had given her across the dining hall yesterday, the one that made Hermione feel like a piece of art on display for a collector.

But really, it all came down to the fact that she just didn't quite what to make of Malfoy anymore, Hermione thought now as she tried to block Snape out with a mere loudness of thought; there was no way she could maintain a peaceful, blank state when he was trying to search up memories of Malfoy.

So he could still be a bully. But with friends like his, she thought, shuddering in recollection as Transfiguration on Friday and the incident just now on the stair landing came to mind, she wasn't really surprised. What she had found out in the mean time was that he was also intellectually engaging, much in the same way that Ron was. Though Ron was no academic, he was simply more interesting to talk to than Harry because he could explain things about the wizarding world to Hermione. Like the offhanded way he had known about Fourier's past Friday at lunch. It was the exact same way Malfoy had recounted famous episodes of wizarding Astronomy history while they were discussing magical fields and star collapse.

And though Malfoy was a dedicated racist and Ron wasn't, Hermione continued thinking, Hermione had always felt that the Weasleys were, on the whole, rather ignorant. She remembered her discomfort the first time she explained an electronic device to Arthur and he said, "Aren't Muggles just adorable?" It wasn't their fault, she knew, that they weren't exposed to Muggles more, and she loved the Weasleys for trying as hard as they did, for being as open as they were. But just because they weren't maliciously racist didn't mean they didn't make assumptions, or didn't generally treat Muggles with condescension. Ron's emphasis during lunch on Fourier's decision to give up his life as a wizard to live as Muggle was just a small example.

Perhaps this was the reason it had always been easier to think of Harry as her brother. They simply understood each other—they came from the same Muggle world, and they had shared the same excitement and joy, the same confusions together, often with Ron as their guide. She could make references to her own childhood, to Muggle children's books, or television shows, and know that Harry would understand the reference. This made Hermione feel rather guilty. She had never realized how left out Ron might feel at this…

The pressure at her memories subsided once again.

"That was a fascinating analysis of Draco Malfoy, the Weasleys, and Harry Potter, Granger," Hermione heard Snape say dryly through her oncoming headache. He held out some more chocolate. "Very well done. We may start Legilimency now."

Hermione nodded and began to listen to his lecture. But two minutes later, she couldn't contain herself. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Are you sure we should move on? You found it so easy to access my memories on Malfoy!"

Snape shifted his shoulders slightly in what he must have felt was a shrug. "We will have other opportunities to practice."

Hermione was suddenly afraid that he had simply given up on her. "But I let you into the memory completely! I have to practice!"

"You will not get much farther tonight. I have attacked your shields with as much force as possible for the last hour. And besides," Snape paused and eyed her, "I do believe you succeeded in protecting what you felt was most important."

She didn't know what he could mean. Snape seemed to sense her confusion. He said, "Every time I forced my way into your memory of encountering Draco in the Room of Requirement, it started in the same place—when he opened the cabinet and you disarmed him. Where is the beginning half of that memory, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked guiltily at the floor. "I don't know," she said.

"I hope that when you encounter the Dark Lord you will remember that he has very little interest in Potter's Potions textbook."

Hermione cringed. "Yes, sir."

"Indeed," said Snape, sounding—and he couldn't really be, could he? Someone as foul-tempered as him—amused. "You should practice altering small details in your memories for the next lesson. Now. Shall we continue with Legilimency?"

.

* * *

Draco checked the time. He couldn't believe that he hadn't had a ready vial of this sitting in his room; he had really let things slide while working on the Cabinet. He would have to restock. "Ten more minutes," he said.

"About time," Blaise moaned from the couch. "The little bitch. Why didn't you get her, Draco?"

Three sets of accusatory, one set of neutral, and one set of sympathetic eyes turned towards Draco. He leaned back in his seat. "Because," he said slowly, "I knew Granger would have a trick up her sleeve."

"Yeah, but you let her turn to go," Pansy interrupted.

"What, Pansy, you think you could match Granger face-to-face?" Draco sneered. "Don't think I didn't see you send that Tripping Jinx at her during Defense."

Pansy's face flushed red. "I did not!"

He could see the wheels turning in the heads of Pansy's little gang. Pansy could see it too. Flustered, she waved her hand and said, "Oh, all right. Yes I did. She's a Mudblood. I just thought it'd be a bit of fun."

"Didn't work out so well for you, did it Pansy? Wouldn't really have worked at all if the Brown bint hadn't sent a Petrifus Totalus at her."

Pansy jumped up. "Whatever I do, it's never enough! Isn't that it, Draco!" She ran off in the direction of the girl's dormitories. Millicent and Tracey sent glares in Draco's direction, picked up Pansy's broom and bag and ran after her.

"I'll say, Draco, if that's the way you treat your girls, maybe I'll warn Astoria off you," Daphne said, standing up, eyes flashing. Not so neutral anymore, eh.

Fantastic. Draco rose and walked towards the Potions ingredients, not bothering to turn to Daphne. He lifted up the horned slugs and counted out four. "Sure thing, Daphne. You know exactly why Pansy was picking on Granger today. But if you like, next time Pansy decides to send little jinx at Granger, I'll just redirect her wand at Astoria. Sound good?"

Daphne huffed and then went down the stairs to join her friends.

It was time. Draco added the slugs, and lifted the cauldron off the fire. Adding the porcupine quills and stirring, he waved his wand with a flourish, and tipped the contents into a vial he conjured out of thin air.

"One Cure for Boils, at your service," he said to Blaise.

Blaise glared at him. "Fuck off, Draco."

Theo sent him an apologetic look, and then took the vial out of his hands.

Wonderful.

.

* * *

.

During the second half of the lesson, Hermione finally understood why Professor Snape emphasized a meditative blankness over thought when performing Occlumency. When she entered Snape's mind, she found that she was lost and directionless. Only when he thought something was she be able to find a direction, and by trailing it, occasionally glimpse something. She was beginning to think that maybe Snape should have taught Harry Legilimency first, so that Harry understood what he was protecting his mind against.

"Ah," she heard Professor Snape think, his memories fading into the background, "you must concentrate on what you are searching for. I can feel the your presence, and the pressure it brings, decreasing as you withdraw into your own thoughts. Any time that you are not completely focused on me, I may push you out, as follows."

Hermione felt her mind reattach to her body. It was a most disconcerting experience; while she was in Snape's mind, she still had physical control over her own body, but all her senses were dulled. She took another piece of chocolate from the bowl Snape had set out, nibbling on it to ease away her slight nausea.

"Again."

Hermione took a deep breath and looked straight into Snape's beady eyes. "_Legilimens!_"

An hour later, Hermione sat at her usual place, looking through some fill-in-the-blank exercises Snape had given the first years when a question arose in her mind that would not settle. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Are you sure you should have awarded me house points for successfully defending myself in the halls today? It was still using magic in the halls… and I performed the Shield Charm knowing that they were standing close enough to each other for it to rebound on someone else…"

"You ask too many questions, Granger."

"Right. Sorry, Professor."

A knock sounded then at the door. Snape motioned to a small cabinet in the corner and Hermione busied herself with the jars of Potions ingredients there, pretending she was cleaning it up.

It was Draco Malfoy at the door. Snape held open the door, letting him in. Malfoy looked uncomfortably around the room and stopped when he saw Hermione.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as a series of expressions crossed over his face rapidly. She was sure that he looked slightly embarrassed, before looking confused, and then finally composing his face into a sneer, just as he had yesterday. "Still working on your detention, Granger?"

Snape said smoothly from the door, "You are excused for the evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione nodded and left the room, sliding past Malfoy sideways at the door, not meeting his eyes though she could feel his gaze on her. Yet another confusing encounter with Malfoy to think about it.

.

* * *

_._

Monday morning, between two periods. Draco left Arithmancy in a rush, hoping to catch Pansy on her way up to the Trelawney's tower. Theo was a problem he gave up on for now, but he thought he could fix the problem with Pansy at least.

"Pans," he called after her when he saw the familiar toss of a mane of black hair through the crowd. "Pans, wait up."

She waited, but made clear her displeasure, setting off in her small, quick steps the moment he caught up.

Draco made a grab for her arm. "Pans," he implored, using that old nickname for her. The trick with Pansy was always to sound a little desperate, as if you needed her to grant you something. Draco hated that. It was one reason he could no longer abide their relationship, but he was desperate enough now to plead, if that was what it took.

Pansy whipped around and shoved him back a little. "Don't call me that," she hissed, tears forming in her eyes. "You don't get to call me that anymore."

"Fifteen minutes," he said. "Give me fifteen minutes."

She sniffed and tossed her hair again. Something passed in her eyes. Regret. Or fear. Draco didn't know which. "Library. Ravenclaw corner. Lunch."

Draco wandered down to the Great Hall, hoping to grab the sandwiches the elves laid out for students too busy to eat during the regular lunch hour. He wrapped Pansy's favorite, Caprese in pressed panini bread, into some brown Charmed anti-Grease paper and tucked it in his pocket. Then, feeling underwhelmed by the other options, he chose the same for himself, and then poured out a healthy amount of tomato soup to match it.

He sat down at the end of the Slytherin table, summoned their Ancient Runes textbook and prepared to eat when the doors scraped open to reveal Granger. With her head buried in their Transfiguration textbook, she padded slowly up the hall.

When she finally reached the table, Draco smiled as he saw her crinkle her nose at the meat options and pick out a Caprese and a bowl of tomato soup for herself. She started towards the Gryffindor table when she noticed him, and stopped, eyes taking in his lunch and the textbook in front of him.

He broke the silence. "Granger."

"Malfoy," she nodded automatically. Draco watched as uncertainty was chased off her face by curiosity. "Don't see you here very often."

Raising an eyebrow, he said, "You take lunch early often?"

Granger looked uncertain again. A long pause followed. Then: "Every Monday."

She sat down at the Gryffindor table and placed the textbook down, thumbing through it to the right page.

"Why's that?" he said, voice raised to distract her from her reading.

She didn't look up as she replied. "All the classes I'm not taking occur in a row today. So if I eat early, then, including lunch, I can spend almost four uninterrupted hours in the library."

Draco worked on his own sandwich for a bit, trying to read his textbook, but failing for some reason. His mind kept reminding him that Granger was right over there. He gave up. "Did you work on Astronomy over the weekend?"

Granger looked startled at the continuation of their conversation. "Not really," she said, "I looked up the process, but I didn't see how Sinistra expected us to actually create models of exploding stars. I mean, I started it…I got past the first stage…"

That was better than anyone else Draco knew. He wondered if he could get her to show him. Granger liked apologies, right? He cast a Muffliato and said, trying to work sincerity into his tone, "Pansy was out of line yesterday."

She gave him a searching look which he didn't understand. There had been no hope. Ah, well. It didn't matter; Theo and Blaise definitely hadn't done it either, with the amount they had been drinking, so Draco was sure he was in good company. He cleared his throat, and then packed up his book. "Just thought you should know, Granger. See you in Potions."

When he reached Ravenclaw corner, Draco searched out the Parkinson section of Ancient Runes, which was Pansy's let's-talk spot. He took a few pillows from a nearby nook and crouched down in the aisle. He picked out the seminal work on Runic translations by her ancestors and began to read.

"Fifteen minutes starts now." Pansy was behind him. Had he really been reading that long?

Draco stood so he would look down at her. Some things still had to be done the old way. He fingered the sandwich in his pocket, wondering if this would be time to give it to her. No, maybe after they had talked for a bit, if he needed to coax her a little more, or seal over a new understanding. "Pansy," he said, imploring again, "explain to me what's going on."

"You," she replied, sniffing. "That's what's going on."

"Me?"

"It's always you, Draco. It was your idea to be together. Remember?"

He supposed it had been. Back in the middle of fourth year. "We already talked about that. I liked you, but it's just time for us to move on."

She sniffed again. "No, Draco. You declared it to me. And I had to accept it."

A scoff rose up in his throat, but he swallowed it. "Accept it?" he said, with just the slightest touch of irony.

Somehow, Pansy crumbled at his words. She stepped into him and leaned on his shoulder, all her posturing gone in a moment. "I just want to try again."

Good one, Pansy, he thought, I almost thought that high pitch in your voice was real. "Really? And what's Blaise?"

She stepped away, eyes flashing. "What he is is none of your business, Draco." He watched as she carefully arranged her face, taking her sweet time, back into snobbish indifference. Just as she managed it, she had to blink back tears, eyelids peeled towards the ceiling. Then, returning her gaze to Draco, she sneered. "Fifteen minutes is over."

.

* * *

.

Monday evening. Hermione walked as quickly as possible down the corridor, hoping not to run into any more Slytherins today. The taunts in the hallways before and after dinner had been unbearable, and she had had to pry Ron and Harry away from more than two fistfights. After yesterday's incident, news of her month-long detention had spread far and wide, and everyone was curious what the stellar Gryffindor prefect could have done to land her in so much trouble.

Luck was on her side; she reached Snape's office without incident.

"Come in," Snape called.

Hermione slipped into his office and was shocked to see Malfoy setting in her customary seat. He was banishing his textbooks; Hermione knew that Malfoy never carried around schoolbooks if he could help it. He took a glance at Hermione, and then scowled at Snape. "Good night," he said curtly, and strode out of the room.

.

* * *

.

This needed to stop, Draco decided. Everything in his life—Theo, Pansy, the Dark Lord, his father—needed to stop, but this especially. Granger.

What deity had decided to have Granger haunt his every step, and why had Snape decided to give Granger detention almost every night? He didn't believe for a second the rumors that Granger had been caught trying to pour Amortentia into the Weasel's pumpkin juice. Anyone with half a brain could see that Weasley was fast tiring of the Brown girl, and Granger definitely had more than half a brain. And it was clear that if that were really the case, he would have heard the rumor sometime last week, instead of the rumors starting just as he revealed to the other Slytherins that Granger had detention almost nightly.

But really, running into her like this everywhere was just unacceptable. It was as if Snape and fate were both intentionally trying to test the bounds of Snape's memory charm by placing Granger in as near proximity to Draco as possible. And it was affecting Draco in strange ways. Like his sudden vision of a naked, sex-flushed Granger during brunch on Saturday. And his inexplicable curiosity about her schedule in the dining hall today.

Worse, late last night, he had been talking to Astoria (Daphne glaring daggers at them from across the room) when he suddenly found his mind morphing Astoria's pretty hazel eyes into the Granger's darker, amber-flecked eyes. And when he closed his eyes even later that night, he saw Granger's face again, her eyes intently fixed on his like they had been during Astronomy last week while he talked about the collection of Hipparchus journals at the Manor.

So she was attractive. Despite being a Mudblood. He had admitted that much to himself when talking to Theo on Friday. But there was no way in hell he could actually prefer Granger to Astoria. Astoria was sleek, pretty, and a real cunning, Slytherin girl. Like Pansy, but with smoother edges. She acquitted herself with grace, but she could hold her own in a catfight with the best if she wanted to. She could also kick it down and pretend she hadn't heard a thing. And, unlike Pansy, she was not a bad Quidditch player either. In fact, if she had been in any other house, Draco was sure she would have made the team. She just didn't fit with the Slytherin team's rough-and-tumble style. She was a social chameleon, a damn good one, and a climber to boot. In other words, everything Draco thought Granger wasn't. Yes, Astoria was the perfect girl for Draco. So the question remained. Why, oh why, did he keep running into Granger, and why did these encounters stick with him?

.

* * *

.

Late Monday evening.

Draco sat with his curtains drawn in his four-poster and made a chart. All the times Granger could possibly have detention. All the classes Granger had and where she was likely to walk. In other words, a guide to which hallways and staircases he should avoid and when.

The next couple of days, Draco constantly ducked into empty classrooms and dark corners to discreetly check his chart. With great effort, he managed to completely avoid Granger outside of class. He had to see her in class, but he made sure to arrive early so he could pick seats in the back of the classroom, where she wouldn't be sitting, to try and focus only on the professor to prevent his eyes from straying (as much) to the back of her neck, and to always leave first. He hadn't known what to do about Astronomy, as she was his new de facto partner, but was saved from making a decision when Sinistra suddenly owled in sick Tuesday evening, excusing them from class that evening.

But it didn't help. There was nothing to distract Draco from Granger except schoolwork. He kept away from Snape's office, trying to do work in the common room or in corners of the library he was certain Granger would not be, but found that distance did not keep her from his mind. He kept replaying Granger's fascinated inquiries on star collapse and the gentleman Astronomers who had pioneered the field, her even explanation of her early lunches on Mondays, and the uneasy conversation she had made about Beamish in his head. He contemplated using his friends as a means of distraction, but no sooner had he considered the idea than its infeasibility struck him: Blaise was still on his case for Merlin knows what; Pansy was still running hot and cold, on moment clinging to him, as she had for that brief minute in the library, and the next, ignoring him completely or singling him out for her unique, vicious brand of wit; Theo was cold in public and apologetically (too apologetically) nice in private; the Quidditch team was keeping its distance too, many of the squad's members still mad about that time he made Harper play instead and they lost to Potter.

It was a lonely few days.

.

.

* * *

.

A/N: Happy weekend everyone! Thank you to julia2332, El, kraco, ziosh, SoulessxWarrior, ordinary vamp, and Ofwhats for the reviews!

SoulessxWarrior: hehe she gets to peek in his head much later. Do you feel that Snape is ooc at all, ie too nice?

SoulessXWarrior: Snape becomes more important later (: And aah yes! We'll get into Draco's head later but we do get to hear some of Hermione's thoughts in this chapter. hehe.

SoulessxWarrior: Hehe I look forward to Theo scenes too. Hermione has a few more chapters of loneliness to suffer through yet, but I hope she finds someone to confide in *cough* Draco *cough* soon too!

kraco: Yes! there will be more confrontations of various sorts!

ordinary vamp: Aa thank you for all the reviews. I really like the spell too. Hehe Theo's secret will come out eventually. Oh good! I'm glad the cuff links are interesting to you. They will come back back later too (:

Ofwhats: That is so flattering! Thank you. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

golojolo: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it. Hmm. This could be a really long conversation. I'll PM you/stalk your account to see what you've already read.

Silvana: Hehe (: It's not meant to be wisdom...just food for thought.


	8. More Enounters

**Chapter 7: More Encounters, Part I  
**

_In which History of Magic is interesting, for once_

_._

_._

Late Monday evening. Hermione returned from Snape's office to find Lavender crying in their dormitory once again. She sighed, pushing away at the part of her that wanted to just drop all her books down and join Lavender in a crying session, and went off in search of Parvati.

She found Parvati sitting on the steps to the boys' dormitories with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, their heads bent together in serious conversation. When Hermione approached, they cut off their conversation abruptly. This had been occurring with more and more frequency to Hermione, so she paid it no mind. Instead, she dived straight into it. "Lavender's crying again," she said.

Parvati jumped up and pulled Hermione aside. "Not again," she said unhappily.

"You promised to tell me what it was."

"I…Well, it's not complicated really," said Parvati, twisting her hair. "Her father's been getting threats from You-Know-Who…and last week…Well, you know her family's not doing so well financially and—"

"Her father's been getting threats from You-Know-Who?" repeated Hermione, alarmed.

Parvati stole a glance at Seamus for some reason and then squared her shoulders. "Didn't you know? Everyone—I mean, lots of people's parents have gotten them."

So did her glance there mean Seamus' parents were getting threats? "Have your parents?"

"Well, it's different. My mum attended Hogwarts…but my dad didn't. He emigrated here much later, and my dad's known to have lots of contacts in India still…"

Hermione stored this away for further examination, not quite understanding Parvati's meaning at the moment and not having time to parse it properly. "So Lavender's parents…" she prompted.

"Well, they don't have the money to pay so they're obviously in a tight spot," explained Parvati, looking exasperated.

"And that's why she cries all the time."

"Yes and well…" Parvati lowered her voice for this next part, eyes darting left and right to make sure no one was listening, "Don't tell anyone else, but her mum's threatening to leave her dad again. She says she's put up with enough over the years and this is the last straw. You know that You-Know-Who goes easier on women so her mum would be fine anyways, but Lav's worried sick about what might happen to her dad, especially if her Mum moves out…He'd be living all alone."

"I thought her parents worked it out fifth year."

"They did, but you know how these things are…She's broken-hearted about that too, of course. Thinks she'll never have a family again, just like she thought fifth year…"

"Surely her parents—"

But Parvati must have been storing up Lavender's problems for a long time, because she rushed on."And now there's this thing with Ron. She complains that he never wants to talk; all he wants to do when he's with her is snog. He doesn't even listen to what she says… But he listens to you just fine! Hermione, couldn't you have a word—"

"What I don't understand," interrupted Hermione, knowing it was unkind even before she said the words, "is what Lavender thinks she has to gain by clinging to Ron the way she has been."

A pause. Hermione watched as Parvati let her hair unwind, and then twisted it up again. "No, I don't suppose you would understand Hermione," she said at last, and then walked away towards the girls dormitory without another word, back very straight. The signal was clear. Don't come in until late, when we're asleep.

Hermione found a small corner, away from where Ron and Harry were laughing by the fireplace with Ginny, to study in. She tried to do homework, but began to wonder miserably what had incited her to say such a thing about Lavender, especially after Parvati's lengthy description of all that was wrong in Lavender's life. Soon her thoughts devolved into a punishing reflection her rather selfish behavior all weekend.

Eventually, Harry noticed her and called her over, so she forced a smile on her face and joined her friends. But still she could not bring herself to laugh at a single one of Ron's jokes that night, and, at night's end, he shot her an injured look before disappearing up the stairs behind Harry.

.

* * *

.

Although Hermione had previously thought herself cured of the curious malaise which had dogged her all weekend, the conversation with Parvati and its aftermath left her even more morose than before. The malaise proved hard to shake as the week wore on; it would disappear during class or 'detention' when someone was instructing her learning, but announce itself the moment she left the classroom or Snape's office. She drifted from period to period. And in the library, or in the common room, or in the privacy of her own four-poster, instead of being able to focus on extracting information from whichever book she held in her hands, unhappy thoughts crowded her mind.

Sometimes, Hermione thought that if she could simply fit Draco Malfoy into a box and forget about him, everything else would go away. But though for some reason Malfoy proved to be elusive in person for the beginning of the week, he was constantly in her thoughts. She had tried, after the lesson Sunday afternoon, to put her thoughts on Malfoy in order, but the more she thought, the more confused she became. She didn't know whether to pity or judge him, whether to allow their tentative acquaintance—or would truce be a better word?—to continue developing, or to cut it off in light of what he was and what he stood for. Hermione had long learned to live with some grays in her life but this seemed a whole new scenario. Malfoy represented something to her, and she wasn't sure what it was and wasn't sure she wanted to find out either.

But other times, Hermione thought Draco Malfoy had nothing to do with it. It was everyone else in her life that was giving her problems. She wished Harry would buck up and learn Legilimency so she could actually share what she had learned with him, and Ron would buck up too, and stop complaining about Lavender behind her back in favor of actually doing something about it. Before, when he had begun to complain about their relationship, right after his love potion accident, she had felt victorious. Now, she felt that she had been petty and stupid for feeling that way.

Her parents Owled each morning asking her to return for Easter. They had sensed, in that way that parents have, Hermione's unhappiness in her last letter and were trying to do what they could to help her. But instead of feeling more loved and lucky, Hermione only felt guilty for not wanting to return. She didn't know how to face her parents in light of what she was feeling. Didn't know how she would start to explain the situation to her parents without explaining many other things which she had long kept secret from them: the real status of Muggle-borns in wizarding society, the very real dangers that Harry faced each year, the loneliness—well yes, that was what it was, wasn't it? Loneliness—that pervaded her life despite having both Harry and Ron as her best friends.

In their dorm room of three, Hermione's conversation with Parvati had proved most detrimental; Lavender had already been giving Hermione silent treatment, but Parvati now followed her best friend's lead, apologetic looks no longer forthcoming. And Ginny—well, Ginny was a little busy, between her upcoming O.W.L.S., Quidditch and her problems with Dean, so Hermione left her alone as she best she could. Even Snape got on her nerves Tuesday night when she turned up at his office door for a lesson since Astronomy was canceled and he, taking a look at her face, refused. What had been wrong with her expression? Too much eagerness to learn?

It was when Hermione happened upon Luna in the corridor on Wednesday morning and nearly snapped Luna's head off at another comment on Wrackspurts that she retreated into her room during lunch to berate herself. This was no way to behave. She pushed her feelings aside, vowing to pay attention. This was no way to do school. And that was what she was here for. School. School, then Harry. That was all. Nothing else mattered, she told herself. Nothing else should matter.

.

* * *

.

Wednesday, ninth period Defense, just before dinner. Snape was once again handing back their essays on protective spells and variations. Today, he was clearly handing them out in terms of grades; Hermione got hers first, followed by Terry Boot, Malfoy, and then a few others. He excused them to the back of the classroom where they were to practice the theories on which they had written.

As Hermione and the other students who had earned Exceeds Expectations or above prepared the mats against the walls, Snape could be heard lecturing the other three-quarters of their class. "I cannot help you, children, if you do not help yourselves. As all of you passed your O.W.L.S., I have assumed that all of you have some natural aptitude for the subject. So do the work before I make up my mind that you would be better served by quitting entirely and force you to drop the class."

Terry chuckled as he came to claim the next mat from Hermione. "It's funny when it's not directed at you…"

Hermione smiled, numbly at first, and then genuinely, as the act of smiling itself helped her cheer up. "I can't wait to hear what Ron has to say about it after class."

"That slimy old git…" Terry whispered, nailing Ron's habit of over-enunciating the 't' on git.

Feeling more herself, Hermione was about to whisper back when Malfoy took the mat from her hands. "Is this class called Defense Against the Dark Arts or Flirting for Fops, Boot?" he said.

Terry cast a glance at Malfoy's back and smirked at Hermione. They resumed setting up and when they were finished, Hermione went to hang her overly long outer robes over the bench she was sharing with Harry; they were working in cramped quarters and and she didn't want to trip while practicing.

When she returned she found that most of the others had paired up, including Terry and Susan, who would both have been natural partners for Hermione. Hermione looked around and saw that in fact, only she and Malfoy were still not paired up. Well, sorry Nott, she thought, feeling a little of the anxiety return, but he's the only one free.

When she had just about reached him, Malfoy came out of the reverie he had been having and met her eyes. He turned abruptly to the pair beside him, Sue Li and Lisa Turpin, saying, "Hello, ladies. Room for another?"

Lisa smiled. Hermione had heard rumors about the two of them once. "Sure, Draco."

Frowning and a little hurt—after all, hadn't they worked together just fine in Astronomy?—Hermione chose to join Ernie and Hannah Abbott, who both smiled graciously when she asked to join them.

After class, she was packing up when Malfoy and Parkinson walked by her. "What's she like, Draco?" Pansy was saying. Who was 'she'? Lisa? Curious despite herself, Hermione followed after them to dinner, leaving Ron and Harry behind.

"Who? Li? Or Turpin?" he said.

"Lisa, of course… Daphne said she could do this thing with her tongue…"

"If you really want to know," Malfoy said, sounding a little defensive, "she's nothing on you. None of them ever were."

"Then why'd you do it?" Was that genuine hurt Hermione heard in Pansy's voice?

"Don't give me that, Pans. You know what you're like. You'd have eaten me alive fifth year if I had said what I really wanted—"

"Which was why we made it official this year. Nobody else, I said. And you agreed! Official! And then you dumped me."

Malfoy made a loud noise and then took Pansy's arms roughly and shoved her up against the wall of the corridor. Hermione could see that Pansy was not the least bit scared, so she didn't step in to stop the behavior. He gripped Pansy's waist and—Hermione could see it from here—pried her lips open with his, his tongue flicking into her mouth. He pulled away just as violently a half minute later. Hermione, unable to understand her own curiosity, stood behind a pillar and watched as Draco turned from Pansy and then turned back to her. That seemed to be a thing he did, the turning. "Tell me you weren't thinking about him, and then I might take you back."

Pansy didn't say anything.

"Tell me!" he said loudly, and then looked about the corridor to see if he had been overheard. He breathed in, continuing in a lower voice, "That's what I thought, so that don't give me that Pansy. Because it's just bullshit. All of it."

"You weren't thinking about me either," she said in a small voice.

"No, not after the first few moments. But I remember, Pans. Don't think I don't look fondly on those memories because—"

"Were you thinking of Lisa?"

"No."

"Who, then, if not Lisa? Astoria?" A pause. "Gr—Granger?"

"You told me two days ago that Blaise was none of my business, so don't come asking me about mine. I haven't asked you what in Merlin's name either of you two are up to even though so-help-me-Circe I have wanted to know since that little trick you pulled together in Transfiguration. So don't, Pans. As Theo says, that is not how it works. You don't get to know." Draco turned heel and didn't turned back this time.

His footsteps echoed in the corridor. After they faded, Pansy leaned back, head against the wall, and blinked back tears. Then, she did a remarkable thing where she literally—and this was the only way to describe it—put her face back together piece by piece. She composed first her forehead, then her cheeks and finally her lips, her chin quivering just once. When she was finished, she lifted her head up high and then headed down in the direction Malfoy had disappeared, her trademark sneer firmly back in place.

Hermione came out from behind the pillar and walked slowly towards the Great Hall. She slipped into the empty spot by Harry for dinner, thinking about Malfoy all the while. Had he avoided working with her in class because of Pansy? That seemed a pretty good theory, because if she were Malfoy, she wouldn't fancy having to deal with Pansy. She had just watched two cats circle each other, knowing either one could reach out and claw the other's face out, should it so choose.

But the questions remained: Why did Pansy think Malfoy liked her? And was that the reason Nott thought Hermione should stay away from Malfoy?

.

* * *

.

Thursday, after lunch. History of Magic.

Maybe it was not having Harry and Ron in this class anymore, but Professor Binns seemed distinctly worse this year, Hermione thought. Of the forty students in her year, only eleven had opted to continue on. On the way to Hogwarts in September, Padma had explained to Hermione, the other Ravenclaw girls nodding all around their compartment, that while she loved history, she didn't need to listen to Binns droning on for hours to learn it. Apparently, all the Ravenclaws save Kevin Entwhistle felt that way, so that the class consisted of him, Hermione, five Hufflepuffs and, surprisingly, four Slytherins.

Well, not that surprising. Their house did place the greatest emphasis on tradition after all.

But the class dynamics had made it so that Hermione sat at her own table, the odd one out. And today, for some reason, Tracey and Millicent had decided to sit where Hermione usually did, so that she was pushed back, to sit alone at the shared desk that was next to the one Malfoy shared with Nott. Thinking along the same vein of thoughts that she had all week, she reflected that Harry and Ron wouldn't have been much use this period, since they would just share a table, and, judging from how Ron had been all morning, ignore her completely.

As she slipped down onto the bench, she gave Nott, who was sitting closer to her, a nod. They were on speaking terms in a way now, weren't they? Although she supposed their conversation last Friday in the library hadn't been friendly. It just hadn't been… antagonistic either. Beside him, Malfoy scowled when she acknowledged Nott, and then sunk down in his chair. "You could have saved your breath," he said angrily to Nott, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Hopkins is as dim as the rest of them."

Nott said in the slow way of his that Hermione was beginning to recognize, "And so what if I did not? They sat where they always sit."

Wayne Hopkins turned from the table he was sharing with Kevin Entwhistle in front of Hermione's and scowled at Nott. "Trust me, if we had gotten here earlier, it'd be us sitting up there." He jerked his chin up in the direction of Hermione's normal table.

"Too bad it's taken, isn't it?" Malfoy sneered.

At the front of the classroom, Binns had begun to drone on about wizarding involvement in the Tudor era, completely unaware of or unwilling to address the class' distraction.

"Not any thanks to you, Malfoy," said Hopkins. "You're just as bad as he is."

"Rich, coming from a Hopkins. How's Daddy doing with—"

"Draco!" hissed Nott.

"—out Mummy by his side? Thing is, Hopkins,—"

Feeling it was her duty to do something, Hermione said, "Please, boys, I'm trying to learn here."

Malfoy fell silent, but it was for naught, because two seconds later, Hopkins said loudly, "Oh that's just precious, Malfoy! Just because it was his father and not yours who—" He cut off when Ernie, sitting in front of him, suddenly turned around and placed a hand on the arm which Entwhistle was not already tugging on.

Ernie got up from his chair and squeezed in beside Hopkins, on the side nearer Malfoy's table. Entwhistle crept up to slip into the bench of the table in front, pushing Justin Finch-Fletchey, who, from the bit of drool at the side of his mouth, had clearly taken one of the Weasleys' daydream potions, into the place where Ernie had been.

Binns, who seemed a little hard of hearing of late—strange for a ghost, Hermione thought—finally noticed the commotion and asked if anything was wrong. After a long pause, he continued on.

Ernie turned back to face Nott and Malfoy now. "See here, Malfoy. I am quite aware, thank you, that you and Nott may have nothing to do with your respective fathers' actions but this is a very sensitive time for Wayne and I would appreciate—"

"You can shut up about my father now, thank you," interrupted Malfoy.

The class subsided into an uneasy silence, aside from the drone of Binns' voice. Slowly, his voice lulled the tired sixth years to sleep. Only Hermione, Ernie, who were the class' consummate students, and Nott and Malfoy, who had slouched in their chairs were scribbling notes to each other in the margins of a scroll already filled in their notes, were still awake at the halfway point. Binns gave them a five minute break.

Tapping Ernie on the arm, Hermione whispered, "What was that about?"

Ernie stole a glance at the Slytherin boys. He spoke back in an Ernie-whisper, which was essentially his regular speaking voice, but one notch lower. "Well I can't be clear, exactly, but from the evidence there is, it seems that Nott's father was involved in a mission as a Death Eater which resulted quite tragically in—"

"No proof, Macmillan." It was Malfoy again.

"I do believe there is proof! There were several eyewitnesses who corroborated—"

"Bogus."

"And how, Malfoy, may I ask, would you be able to assess accurately the—"

Draco let out a loud, mirthless laugh. "Have you ever met such a pompous popinjay, Theo?"

Hermione stopped shifting her gaze back and forth between the boys and observed Nott, who had sat up from his own sunken position with alert eyes. He said, in an affected voice,"I daresay, Malfoy, it is Malfoy, isn't it, for I am never quite sure how best to address others, that such pompous little popinjays are not easily found, being a hereditary trait which is best passed from fathers to their first-born—"

"But perhaps, Nott, it is ass—assholery that is the hereditary trait passed down from fathers to their first-born sons, which would explain why you might derive joy from someone else losing a mother as you did yours!"

There was a silence; Ernie was rarely driven to say something as cruel as that. Then: Hannah Abbott, who none of them had seen awaken, suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room, crying. Susan Bones, who sat beside her and didn't look too well herself, turned on Ernie. "Honestly, Ernie… She only just got back a month ago…" She brushed some tears out of her eyes and rushed out after Hannah.

Sighing, Entwhistle relocated himself to the now-empty desk in front of Malfoy and Nott, as if to play peacekeeper. "Please, can we just drop it," he said.

It was Nott's turn to laugh mirthlessly. He said, again in that affected voice,"I daresay, Entwhistle, that it would be best if we did not—"

"What is your problem, Nott?" Hopkins roared.

Hermione stole a glance up at Binns. He really had lost his hearing, for he hadn't heard a thing. The two Slytherin girls though, were looking on from the front of the room, bright-eyed and interested.

Malfoy snickered. "Control your friend, Macmillan. Seems a little angry for a Hufflepuff."

"You little fucker—! I'm going to beat the—"

Hermione flicked her wand at Hopkins, who looked about angrily for his silencer until he met her eyes. She tilted her head in Binns' direction to signal to him that he should calm down before he lost any House Points. Hopkins turned his attention back to the front of the room, but not without casting an angry glare at Malfoy first.

Malfoy seemed to wait until Hopkins was reseated before starting up again. "That's right, Hopkins—"

"Please, Malfoy," Hermione said quietly. "We don't need any more of this."

"Yeah, whatever," Malfoy sneered, but he and Nott both slumped down in their chairs again and recommenced writing notes to each other.

After a few minutes, Malfoy slammed his quill down and kicked at Entwhistle's bench. "Move," he said.

Entwhistle, darted a glance at Malfoy and, catching the latter's expression, scurried back to share a table with Finch-Fletchey. Malfoy moved into the empty spot.

Neither of the two Hufflepuff girls returned to class that period. At class' end, Hermione got up immediately to search for them, reaching the door at the same time as Malfoy, who somehow found reason to scowl at her again. He made a mocking gesture towards the door. "Ladies first, Granger."

.

* * *

.

Draco pushed his way angrily out of the History of Magic classroom, Theo at his heels.

"Draco!"

He didn't stop, but the other boy caught up easily. He was obliged to say, "Yes?"

Theo suddenly pushed him up against the wall. It wasn't particularly forceful, so Draco let him do as he pleased. Theo wasn't the violent type. "Will you at least explain now that we are not in class? That was completely unnecessary!"

"No, shit."

"Then why did you—Circe, you little bitch. I do not need you defending me to the likes of Hopkins."

"Oh?" Draco sneered. He pitched his voice high. "I had nothing to do with it, Hopkins! I swear! There isn't any evidence that my father was there!" He paused. "I swear, Theo. You're losing your touch. Apologies and denials never got anyone want they wanted."

Theo looked angry enough to punch the wall. He did, in fact, but lightly. So lightly not even his knuckles would bruise. "Fu—Fuck you, Draco. I was doing it for you, so you could avoid Granger some more like you have been trying to all week. Oh yes! I have been watching you duck into corners all week to check on your little chart."

"And you happen to know what's on my chart?"

Theo continued on, as if Draco hadn't spoken. "Tracey and Millicent decided to test out Pansy's theory for her during class today. That is why they moved. I thought that you could use some help. That is why I greeted Hopkins in the first place, hoping those two might sit near us if we were having a civil conversation. How was I to know that he had found out about my father's involvement?"

There was no way to respond to that without sounding stupid so Draco just glared.

Theo took a deep breath. "I have been trying to be a good friend—"

Bullshit, Draco thought. All that crap with Blaise and you call yourself a good friend. "You were perfectly happy when I laid into Macmillan for you."

Theo had the grace to back off a little. "Well, yes. I was angry."

"A thank you would be nice too."

"Thank you," Theo said.

They both breathed hard, glaring, and then, relenting, Theo shoved Draco halfheartedly. "You really are an asshole…What was that spell you sent at Binns?"

"Handy, isn't it? _Muffliato._ Learned it from Snape. You're an asshole too. That little act with Macmillan was priceless."

Theo chuckled. "Yeah…"

"Come on," Draco sighed. "Flitwick's nice but he's not a saint. We're late as it is."

In Charms, their late arrival meant that Theo got to sit next to Blaise as usual, but Draco was somehow forced to sit right next to Granger, who had also arrived late, looking anxiously around the classroom for someone. He sat on the edge of the bench, glancing down the room to see Potter casting them worried glances and Weasley looking determinedly straight ahead. Beside him, Lavender and the Parvati girl were chatting merrily. He wondered why Granger, who normally crammed in with the two blunderheads so they were three at the table, was suddenly sitting by herself today.

He cursed in his head. After two days of success avoiding her, all of a sudden, all of this. When Flitwick finished lecturing, Granger turned to Malfoy as if considering group work, but then seemed to change her mind, glancing at Hopkins and Macmillan and then (but this couldn't be, could it?) over at where Pansy sat with the other Slytherin girls. She turned back to face the front of the classroom and began practicing the charm they had learned today. Silence fell between them.

It was companionable enough silence, but it was terrible to Draco. He found he could not practice charms at all, as his mind kept calling up not the usual memories of their conversations, but a series of visions inspired by her attire in Defense yesterday when he had caught Boot flirting with her. Granger standing in front of him, dressed in her shirt, pullover and pleated skirt, head tilted to one side, arms shyly entwined in front of her, a blush in her cheeks. Granger, dressed the same way, lying on his bed and hesitantly, virginally opening her legs…

At the period's end, he decided his plan of avoiding Granger had been a good course of action, even despite its seeming failure today, because _physical proximity_ to Granger had nearly killed him in only one period's time.

.

* * *

.

Thursday evening. Giving up on working alone, Draco decided that today being Thursday, he could risk a visit to Snape's before Astronomy; Granger didn't have detention tonight.

He read over the paragraph one more time, still not understanding. Why had he allowed Snape to talk him into this when he still had Transfiguration essays to write? Easter break started in two days, and though McGonagall had kindly given him the whole Easter week to catch up too once she realized he was genuinely trying to make up his work, Draco wanted to actually enjoy some of his Easter. He highlighted a portion on the page and passed it over to Snape.

"It seems to suggest that you could reduce the brewing time of any potion taking longer than four months to brew to a third of that time," he said, "but that can't possibly be true—"

"That is precisely what it suggests," Snape interrupted.

"Have you done it?" Draco wanted to know.

"No," Snape said, "but I would be willing to try, if you could think of—"

Draco sat up suddenly. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I can and yes, I want to. Please."

Snape smiled blankly and summoned a book from his room. Gunhilda of Gorsemoore's private notes. "Read."

Two hours later, Draco yelped when his wand stung him, and then checked the time. Five minutes to get up to Astronomy yet again! He Banished the book to his Room, and then straightened his robes.

"Headed somewhere?" Snape looked up from the grindylow tank, where he was seeing to the weed bed.

"Astronomy," Draco said. Fucking Astronomy. That had started all this mess.

Snape straightened up. "I see," he said, with some great irony Draco was missing. "Have fun."

Bloody Snape.

.

* * *

.

As he came to the top of the tower, Draco realized that the problem with Astronomy had finally come to a head. He needed a partner, and it couldn't Blaise but it couldn't be Granger. He wished, not for the first time, that Crabbe and Goyle had passed their Astronomy O.W.L. so he'd have to someone to work with. Draco looked around.

There weren't many choices. Only half the class was here, and Draco needed someone fairly good at Astronomy. When he had to work with a someone not in his house, he generally preferred to work with girls, finding them nicer and easier to charm. But only two of the girls—Hufflepuffs—were here, and they were clearly partnered. The rest would probably arrive in a pack and pair off… A girl wouldn't be so great, Draco decided. Pansy would throw another fit…Merlin knows he didn't need another conversation like the one he'd had yesterday after Defense. Draco walked quickly to Entwhistle, who had somehow arrived without Brocklehurst tonight.

"Entwhistle," he said, as nicely as he could. If he could work with one Mudblood, he could work with another, right?

"Malfoy." Entwhistle looked wary, not that Draco blamed him after History of Magic. He looked Draco up and down (was there a word for that? Draco had definitely thought there was one..) with reddened eyes.

A little fight with Borcklehurst before Astronomy tonight? Perfect. Draco summoned his most charming smile. A smile which worked on both sexes. "Partners?"

Entwhistle looked stunned.

That's right, Entwhistle, Draco thought. I, Draco Malfoy, have been reduced to asking—nay, practically seducing—you, a Mudblood, and not even the smartest one in the school, to partner with me.

Draco waved a hand out at the telescope Sinistra had just finished setting up. "How about that one?"

Entwhistle stole a glance around the rest of the platform. Everyone else was paired up. "Uh, yeah. Sure." He offered a hesitant smile back. Good thing Draco had resisted a real jab at Entwhistle during History of Magic when Entwhistle tried to get involved.

.

* * *

Sure enough, most of the class' girls came up in a pack. Five Ravenclaw girls, two more Hufflepuffs and Hermione Granger, the whole lot of them giggling. At the sight of them, Entwhistle shifted nervously.

When they saw Draco and Entwhistle at a telescope together, four of the Ravenclaw girls immediately turned to the other one and started whispering. Entwhistle shoved his hands in his pockets and made a miserable sound.

Granger glanced at Draco, taking in his proximity to Entwhistle and a telescope, and then nodded at him, giving him a conspiratorial smile. What was wrong with her? "Mandy?" Granger said, voice light and clear. "Want to work with me?"

All the Ravenclaws turned around and beamed at Granger. Draco heard the girl at the centre of the circle say in a wavering voice, "Sure, Hermione."

Draco could have sworn that he saw Granger wink when she passed him.

.

* * *

Entwhistle was nothing on Granger. Maybe he was normally bright, but today he was just a mess.

"Look, mate," Draco said as the class drew to a close and they were not even halfway done. "At least she's not like Pansy."

Entwhistle looked startled, and then he laughed. "Yeah…" Then he caught Draco's eye and nodded his chin in Granger's direction, raising his eyebrows. "So, what is it between you two?"

Fuck.

.

* * *

.

That night, Draco went over every memory of Granger in his head, deciding that the reason he couldn't stop stealing discreet glances at her was he didn't understand her. But no matter how hard he tried to fit Granger into a box, she wouldn't stay there. New details kept cropping up, preventing him from categorising her in any way.

It just didn't make sense to him, why Granger had suddenly cropped up in the middle of everything else in his life. He knew it was irrational, but he almost wanted to blame her for everything else that had happened in his life. The problems with Theo, Pansy, Blaise…the question his father would answer…all of it had started with Granger. It was as if he had traded in all the anxiety of working on the cabinet for some sort of social circus.

That thought sobered him up quickly. He had really dropped the ball; Snape had told him that he and others in the inner circle would be planning the attack with the Dark Lord, and Draco was freed from most of the duty, except the final act, but it was never wise to let others plan.

Yes, that was it. He had been so relieved to be done with the cabinet that he had let it get to his head. There was no time for that. He would push Granger, and by proxy, all the other things out, by working on the cabinet again. Snape had given him the perfect way to do that with the Gunhilda.

And if she made her normal appearance during his studying now, he simply had to try harder to push those thoughts away. That was all. No more discreet glances whenever he caught sight of her bushy head making its way past in the halls. No more turning over her clever words in his mind, trying to work out what other intellectual interests Granger might have. No more.

.

* * *

Friday, very early morning. Hermione climbed into bed, knowing she would have to wake up in less than three hours, having had to stay much longer than usual. Sinistra had patiently as the last two groups—she and Mandy, and Malfoy and Entwhistle—tried to finish up. Mandy had been reasonably productive at the beginning, but after Malfoy and Entwhistle had somehow started laughing and joking with each other, Mandy had withdrawn into herself and started crying at random intervals.

Hermione, not knowing what else to do, had asked her what was wrong.

Mandy explained with a hiccup that she had caught him kissing another girl and he refused to even apologise, insisting that he was not at fault.

Hermione thought then of Ron and Lavender. She said bitterly, "Isn't that what they're all like? Boys?"

And Mandy answered miserably, "I thought Kevin was different."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed. "I thought Ron was different."

Looking a little ashamed at herself, Mandy moved forward to give Hermione a hug. "I'm sorry… Sitting here moping over Kevin when you've been beat up about Weasley since… well, ages ago."

"It's…it's not a big deal," Hermione said. "Not like we were actually going out. Not like you two…"

But Mandy picked up her quill and started scribbling. "No," she said as she began to catch up. "Thank you for that. I needed to remember that I wasn't the only one."

No, you're not, Hermione had thought at the time, thinking not about Ron at all, but Malfoy and Pansy in the hallway today. And even if you were, well, I think Hannah Abbott has it worse.

So: Friday morning, first period. Transfiguration. Hermione sat in class, still feeling that discontent which had settled upon her a week earlier, even while knowing she was petty for feeling that way, in light of Hannah, Susan and Wayne's problems, and even Mandy's problems. It seemed half the Hufflepuffs in her year were missing family and somehow she could not shake herself of this selfish misery.

A tap on her shoulder awoke Hermione to her surroundings. Harry tapped a parchment on the desk.

_What's wrong_, he had written.

_I don't know what you mean._

_Yes. Yes, you do. You've been off since…well, since that fight you had with Ron in the library last Friday. _

_I'm fine._

_I'm sorry I didn't come find you that night…Snape canceled my detention and Ginny invited me to drink with her friends… And I'm sorry I haven't asked you about it… I'm just… I've still been working on Malfoy. Did you know he likes to duck into random corners and look at a random piece of paper he has in his pocket? Also, he looks at you a lot._

_Malfoy does?_

_Yeah…Do you want to tell me about that note from last week? The one with the two of you…"_

It wouldn't be so bad to tell Harry something, right? That's what friends were for after all. _I think it came from Pansy._

_Really? Why Pansy?_

_She seems to think Malfoy might like me._

Harry couldn't help himself, it seemed. He swiveled his head around to look at the Slytherins in the back and then quickly scribbled his reply. _Seriously?…. Is she right?_

_Are you kidding me? Draco Malfoy, pure-blood fanatic, like me, a Muggle-born? I think he likes Astoria Greengrass. Have you seen them at dinner? He barely talks to anyone else now._

Hermione stared down at the words she had written. How had she known that? Had she been watching him more than she realized?

_Then why? And what does it have to do with Astronomy,_ Harry wrote back.

Hermione sighed. _Can I catch you up about this tomorrow morning? After Apparition? There's actually a lot to tell…_

Harry gave her a sweet smile. _Of course… We should probably stop before McGonagall catches us anyway._

When McGonagall finished lecturing, Hermione asked to be excused on account of a slight headache. When she was finally alone in a corridor, she leaned against the wall, letting the coolness counteract her emotional turmoil. This was no way to live. It was no way to live. She had to tell Harry something before the misery swallowed her whole. Now she only had to decide what.

.

.

* * *

.

A/N: Thank you for reading, as always. For the Americans—Happy Mother's Day! That sentiment goes to all mothers, regardless of country though. One day of rest and/or celebration is in no way sufficient recognition for what most mothers actually do for their families and children, but it's a start. My mother will never read this, but I dedicate this to her nonetheless, for her constant encouragement and unwavering love.

.

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golojolo: Hehe thanks for the review! You know, I don't know that many fics where Pansy and Blaise are paired because Blaise is Draco's best friend and Pansy is Hermione's... I know a fair bit more that have Ron/Pansy as a side pairing for those reasons (let the ditched lovers get together is the idea I think) and many times I do feel disappointed. As for what Slytherins did at the Battle of Hogwarts, vs what everyone else did, I have many bones to pick with DH so I'll leave it at that, otherwise you'd be reading this reply forever!

golojolo: Oh, are you not into that pairing? Haha... Yeah I'm not much of a character-basher myself, especially in d/hr fiction because, well, let's face it: the entire ship is a redemptive exercise for Malfoy. (well, except some dark fics) I've always found it unfair that Draco gets a chance even in cannon to semi-redeem himself but Pansy is condemned to being the girl who points at Harry and says they can turn him in. As for Hermione's situation, I don't think Hermione's as nice as they make her out to be— that's one reason I think she and Ron are incompatible, actually. I know that technically there's five of each gender in each house, but it's entirely too strange to introduce anyone else into their year at this point since neither of the other two girls are mentioned in cannon. Thus, I decided that there should just be uneven numbers in each year. I'm also pretty sure Lisa Turpin is in Ravenclaw.

SoulessxWarrior: Haha sorry :X More drama instead of less! I'm sorry to see you think Hermione is pitiful...I actually think she's a real trooper! Yay I'm glad some of Pansy's intentions are shining through, Blaise too. I didn't write them to be completely opaque so...haha.

SoulessxWarrior: Aa thanks for the catch! I found a beta finally but she's still working through the beginning parts. Yeah Pansy and Blaise are kinda confused about what they want too. I swear it makes sense from their points of view!

kraco: So this fic is actually posted on H&V (a less edited version) and in a different chapter arrangement if you want to read all that is currently available on the *interwebs*. I'm stretching out what I have here because I think shorter, regular updates are preferable to long ones in a reading experience. There's not that much more to catch up on anyway.

amongstthesky: Here you go!

ordinary vamp: Aah! That is so flattering. :D Well, I don't think Hermione's losing any sleep over Draco kissing Pansy just yet... Maybe later hehe.

ordinary vamp: You never, it didn't strike me as creepy until you pointed out. But now that you say so, it really is creepy! And cute. Haha! It would be a lot creepier if he were using it to stalk her than avoid her... but then again, since I ship them, I might find it a little cute anyway In fact... :P

WideEyedDreamer01: Thank you so much, especially about the "brilliant" imagination. I think my greatest fear when I started writing this was that it would have too many sixth-year dramione cliches so I can't tell you how flattering it is that someone thinks it is at least a little original.

El: It never gets old hearing people say that they think Hermione and Draco are in character in the fic so thank you! Unfortunately, Draco has a lot more loneliness to bear but I think some interesting will happen, yes!


	9. A Beginning

**Chapter 8: A Beginning **

_In which Severus reflects on beginnings  
_

.

.

Early on Saturday morning, the first day of Easter break, Draco caught the Hogwarts Express, excited to finally get answers about Theo from his father. He was joined unexpectedly in his empty compartment by Severus Snape, who smiled ironically and settled down opposite Draco.

He settled easily across from Draco. "I'm headed to the Manor as well."

"Why not Apparate there from Hogsmeade?"

"It is nice to have some quiet," his professor replied. "Speaking of Apparition, I would have thought that you would be at the lessons… But as you are here, perhaps we could work some more on Gunhilda."

Draco sat up, excited. "Do you think so? I was translating some last night and I was hoping you could look it over before I started the rest…"

The compartment door slid open again.

It was Theo. Of course. Theo who could also Apparate already. It was a Death Eater thing, perhaps, teaching one's children to Apparate as soon as they were magically capable. Almost the moment Draco arrived home after his fourth year, his father had put him to work reading about Apparition and doing focus exercises.

Theo nodded at both of them, yawned, and, choosing an empty seat, promptly fell asleep.

Draco raised his eyebrows at Snape, who shook his head and pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet from his robes.

They rode in silence to King's Cross.

.

* * *

.

Hermione sat numbly in one of the window seats as she had all morning. She had watched jealously from a corner of the common room as the first years trooped out with their luggage, talking excitedly of home. She wanted to go home, too.

Instead, she was stuck trying to work out, last minute, how to explain to Harry what was going on. This morning, Hermione had done the formerly unthinkable: she had skipped Apparition. With everything else going on, there simply didn't seem to be a point to showing up and practicing something that she already knew cold. During the extra lesson at Hogsmeade on Monday, she had been so bored of the endeavor that she had begun actively practicing Legilimency—extremely light, unintrusive Legilimency—on the unsuspecting souls next to her, savoring in particular Ron's nervous thought process until, disgusted with herself, she withdrew from his mind. That incident, just like her words about Lavender, had haunted her all week. When had she become consciously cruel?

When Harry returned from the Apparition, they went together back down to the Great Hall and grabbed a few pastries, both glad, perhaps for the first time, that Ron's face was pasted to Lavender's so he didn't notice their quick entrance and exit.

"So," said Harry as they plopped down on the grass, watching the Giant Squid dangle its tentacles in the sun.

Hermione opened her mouth to start her rehearsed speech, which was a condensed version of what had happened between her and Malfoy. But what came out instead was: "You-Know-Wh—I mean, Voldemort is recruiting."

She could see the muscles in Harry's neck and shoulders tensed up. "What do you mean?"

"On Wednesday, Parvati told me that Lavender's parents had been threatened into joining him. And from what I've gathered, Seamus' parents have been threatened too…"

"Do you think Dumbledore knows?"

Of course he knows, Hermione thought, he just doesn't tell you. And if I were smart, I wouldn't tell you either. But telling you this is easier than telling you about Malfoy. "I don't know," she said. "But he's Dumbledore, Harry. Don't you think—"

"We have to tell him!" Harry had already jumped up.

But Hermione made no move to join him. She lay back in the grass, feeling it prickle at her back, and thought, briefly, that maybe her problem all week had been a lack of sunshine.

Harry waited for a moment before saying, "You don't want to come?"

"It's better you tell him alone."

Harry returned, knelt down by Hermione's side and squeezed her hand to catch her attention as she had shut her eyes. "But this thing with Voldemort isn't what you were going to tell me before."

There it was. Hermione often thought that _intuition_, not Harry's undeniable pureness of heart, was his true weapon against You-Know-Who. He could be led astray, but he had unerring instincts. "No, it wasn't," she agreed, sitting up again.

Harry sat back down, draping his arms comfortably over his raised knees. "You know, last Monday, when I had the lesson with Dumbledore again, he was pretty disappointed that I hadn't gotten the memory," he said.

He was drawing her out, she realised, only, unlike Snape, who did it with calculation, Harry did it instinctively, trying to share his own problems in an effort to make Hermione feel better. She remembered, just two weeks ago, getting on Harry's case about the memory. Now, she barely thought of it. "You've been busy."

"The worst part was he didn't get mad at all. He just looked sad and explained why it was important again."

"Have you figured something out?"

Harry breathed out in frustration. "I scared Slughorn off the first time, coming on so strong. You should have seen that memory. Riddle was…He used to be so charming. I could never wheedle something out of Slughorn the way he could."

"You don't have to," Hermione said. "He was asking for something evil. You're asking for something good. Slughorn probably feels guilty and you're the last person he wants to tell because you're someone You-Know-Who has hurt a lot, but he's not a bad man, Harry. You just have to appeal to his conscience."

"I suppose," Harry said. They were silent for a while, and Hermione used this silence to admired the shimmering waves of the Great Lake, and all around them, the colors of Spring.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" said Harry, breaking the silence what seemed a long time.

"Yes. I always forget."

"Me too," said Harry as he picked at the grass, grasping a few blades and watching them strain against his fingers. "Even though Hogwarts is like my home."

Hermione recalled her thoughts this morning. She was lucky; Harry had no other place to call home.

"You know, Riddle felt the same way about Hogwarts," said Harry before she had formulated a response.

"So do I, sometimes." And that was true, wasn't it? Home was home but Hogwarts, well, Hogwarts was the centre of her world. "I miss my parents but when I'm there for too long, I feel like I can't be myself anymore. The Muggle world's not the same anymore, after you learn magic…"

"Yeah…" Harry took one of those breaths which expands a person's chest to its utmost and breathed it all out his nose, slowly. "So, do you want to tell me what's been going on?"

Hermione turned from admiring the way the sunlight was reflecting off the green grass at the edge of the lake's water to look into Harry's startling green eyes. In this light, it looked as if his eyes were at one with the nature around them. They were so clear, just like the water, and so green, like… like life. "When it started," she said, not knowing where she was going, "I thought it had to do with Ron. You know, Ron and Lavender."

"I think they're going to break up soon. Ron complains about it…"

"But it really has nothing to do with Ron," she continued on, the act of talking carrying her forward. "I don't know what it is, Harry. It's just discontent."

"And it has nothing to do with Malfoy?"

And of course, they had come in a full circle again. Malfoy had both everything and nothing to do it. And there was no way to tell Harry everything on her mind. When she had been silent for too long, Harry prompted her, "Do you know why he looks at you?"

"I haven't seen Malfoy look at me," Hermione fibbed. It was true enough, in a sense. She had barely seen him this week. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding her…

"Well, he does," said Harry. "Or he did, before yesterday."

"Yesterday?" That was odd. What had happened yesterday? Was he upset that she had winked at him during Astronomy? "I don't know, Harry. There's no rational reason he should be upset with me."

"Can you explain about the Transfiguration note at least?"

"Well, like I said, that was Pansy."

"But why?"

This was the logical place Hermione had decided she could start this morning. She took a deep breath before beginning the rehearsed speech. "Malfoy and I had to work together in Astronomy last week because we were both late and—well, get this Harry—we actually got along. I guess it got back to Pansy somehow. You know that they've split up, right?"

"Jealous over Malfoy?" said Harry, completely surprised. "You mean it wasn't…well, you know…the typical? Blood-bullying?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Harry looked relieved. "She has terrible taste!"

"They've been friends for ages," Hermione said, thinking of the heated kiss she had witnessed between them in the corridor. "And its not really that strange to fall in love with a friend, is it?"

Harry gave her a knowing look. "I suppose not. But honestly, who would like Malfoy? What do you suppose they say to each other? 'Oh, Parkinson, I'm so glad you're just as mean, vicious and pure-blooded as I am…'"

Hermione swatted at Harry, but played along. She pitched her voice a little higher and spoke with clipped tones. "At least I'm prettier than you, Malfoy!"

"Yeah, but you're nothing on that Hermione Granger," Harry continued in his faux Malfoy drawl. "I worked with her the other night in Astronomy and…" He drifted off, unable to speak as he tried to contain his mirth.

Then they were grinning at each other idiotically and racing back to the castle. They darted up the stairs, ignoring the scandalised look which Trelawney sent them as she walked at a dignified pace out of the Great Hall, and raced down the third floor corridor.

At the stone gargoyle, Hermione gave Harry a small push. "Go on, Harry. Tell him."

Harry whispered a password to the gargoyle, which leaped aside, and got into the rotating staircase, squaring his shoulders as he walked in. Then, he turned and gave Hermione a wide smile. "You're the best, Hermione," he said.

"So are you," she said, letting the glow his words brought her expand in her chest.  
.

* * *

_._

The air about the Manor had lightened since the last two times Draco had been here and it was busier than Draco had ever seen it before. Various Death Eaters milled about and people were coming in and out of the Floo almost constantly.

Curious. That meant someone at the Ministry had been Imperiused. That, or bought, or converted.

His father, in particular, was both happier and busier than Draco had seen him a long time. Every day, a parade of people Draco was sure were Polyjuiced—none of them were in the least bit familiar—came through the Floo and walked straight into his father's study, where they were invariably holed up the whole day.

So Draco resigned himself to finishing his catch-up work in Transfiguration, Ancient Runes and Charms, and working on Gunhilda's notes. More often than not, he was joined by Severus Snape himself, who was invariably in a foul mood, though _why_ Draco could not fathom. Indeed, Snape seemed happiest Draco interrupted him from his work to ask about the meaning of certain advice Gunhilda laid out for the beginning Potions experimenter.

The other thing that made Snape marginally happier was when, in explaining his current rendition of the plan to kill Dumbledore to Draco, he or Draco found some problem. The oddest part was that, in the company of almost everyone else, Snape wore his normal, stone-like countenance. Draco thought that perhaps he was merely projecting his own feelings onto Snape. That would explain why his intellectual curiosity seemed to be mirrored in his professor just as his dislike of the task concerning Dumbledore was.

But the question of Snape, the project with Gunhilda and his participation in planning the Dumbledore assassination did not erase the two things which had preoccupied Draco before break from his mind. Indeed, the question of Granger and the problem with Theo loomed larger in his mind than ever now that class was no longer constantly distracting him.

He had thought that being away from the castle would allow him some distance from Granger, but instead the distance only let Astoria fade. At the castle, those of his dreams which were friendly, that is, not about the Dark Lord, had largely consisted of some odd mixture of Astoria, Granger and Pansy. After their kiss on Monday, it seemed he had finally put Pansy to rest. But now he found that Astoria had become some kind of non-issue, more a logical choice now than an attraction that he felt inside him. And so it was Granger he dreamed about.

Most weren't even overtly sexual dreams, they were just dreams about her. Dreams where she would tuck that one strand of her hair behind her ear over and over again before finally sighing in exasperation and pulling it all up into a bun. Dreams where the right side of her lips would press together just slightly when she discovered something interesting. And the most puzzling thing was, when he woke up, he would realise that these were indeed mannerisms Granger had. But though Draco prided himself on being observant, his observations were normally _conscious_. They didn't come to him in dreams.

On Theo, the case was easier. He simply had to ask his father. So on fourth day of his stay, Wednesday, he brought it up during breakfast, the one meal which his family could still eat in relative peace, though this morning they had been joined by both Professor Snape. "Father, may I ask you a question?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"I…Is there a reason Theo Nott should be unhappy?"

"Not that I know of," Lucius said. "Why? Is there something wrong with the boy? He seems a clever, quick sort of boy."

Every way he tried to explain it, it sounded stupid. Father, he's been ignoring me in favour of this other boy. Father, he didn't help me regain the top spot in Slytherin House. Father, he talks to Pansy now and cares about popularity, both of which he didn't do before. Finally, Draco said, "You know, Blaise Zabini is now considered the official 'it' boy of the House."

"Oh?" said his father. "Strange. I thought that was you."

So did I, Father. Draco gave it up. There was no point. "Thank you," he said. "I was just wondering."

"I was wondering as well, Lucius," Snape said conversationally from across the table, "But about a different subject of course. Those are some beautiful stones Draco is wearing on his—"

"Oh, yes," said Lucius as if he wasn't aware he was cutting Snape off. "Draco, your cuff links. I did not realise your mother had given them to you. Use them well." He looked pointedly at Snape, as if challenging him.

"Draco, if you please," Snape said blandly, "your father and I have some business for the Dark Lord we must discuss."

Any other day his curiosity would have been peaked, but Draco barely paid attention as he left the room. And when he passed the dining room later that hour, and heard Severus insisting, "You have forgotten, Lucius, what every child knows: Never to use an object one does not understand!" he barely thought anything of it.

From behind him, the corridor echoed with his father's response: "And I am telling you, Severus, that it is better he does not know. Knowledge of an object's power has never saved a man from himself, but ignorance? Ignorance has saved many."

.

* * *

That night, Lucius hosted the annual Easter Malfoy Manor bash. Most upperclassmen students had remained at school to work, so unsurprisingly, Draco, after the rush of parents remarking loudly and obsequiously to Lucius on Draco's height and his maturity and intelligence, had only Theo for company.

They snuck out the backdoor of the ballroom and into the garden maze once they were sure they wouldn't be missed. Finding their old favorite stone bench, both boys sat down.

"So," said Theo.

"So." Draco was in no mood to humor Theo.

"How has your break been?"

"You know."

"Yes, I suppose I do." Theo kicked half-heartedly at the albino peacock which was strutting by.

"They're fat, aren't they."

"Yes," said Theo. They sat for a while in silence, and then, Theo, sighing, said, "I wish it would all end."

"What would?"

"You know," Theo said, imitating Draco's tone, but then he relented. "The war." He looked carefully about the hedges and then cast the Muffliato spell Draco had shown him, courtesy of Snape. "I do not think I even care, really, who wins at this point."

"You would take Potter?"

"Potter would re-establish the status quo."

Draco looked pointedly at Theo.

"All right. He would advocate the rights of Muggle-borns. He would encourage tolerance of Muggles. We would probably be taxed more. I can take all of that. What I cannot take is—" Theo gestured in the direction of the Manor.

"It all ends when Potter and Dumbledore die anyway. It can't be that long."

Theo snorted. "Dumbledore dying. Or Potter dying for that matter."

"Not this again," Draco said. "You can't honestly believe that Potter knows anything—"

"I can," argued Theo. "Why did the Dark Lord seek him out in the first place, if not because he possesses some great talent for the Dark Arts?"

Draco looked with surprise at his friend. Hadn't his father told him? "You don't know?"

"What, you do?"

Well, it couldn't hurt. Draco didn't think it was so secret amongst the Dark Lord's followers anymore anyway. "You know what your father got caught for at the Ministry?"

"He was with your father trying to trap Potter."

"But why at the Ministry, Theo?"

Theo shrugged. "The Dark Lord has a flair for the dramatic. It would make a statement."

So it would. Draco had never thought about it that way. "Perhaps. But there was another reason."

Theo gestured in a way that signified _go on_.

"They were trying to fetch a prophecy. A prophecy about the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. One that was made seventeen years ago."

"What did it say?"

"That's what the Dark Lord wanted to find out. Last time, he only heard a secondhand report. So this time…"

"And prophecies can only be removed by the people which they concern." Theo whistled. "Of course. But why not take it himself?"

Draco shrugged. "A flair for the dramatic? Or maybe he was hoping to get Potter in one go too."

"They were still pretending he hadn't returned then."

"That, too," agreed Draco.

After a moment, Theo recollected his previous point. "So it was prophesied! That means Potter _has to know_ something!"

"He was a baby then," said Draco.

"Maybe it was about what Potter would become. The next great Dark Lord or something."

"Saint Potter?" Draco laughed.

"He is good at Defence, which is essentially the same thing," Theo pointed out.

"Yes," agreed Draco. "And he's survived meeting the Dark Lord four times now. It doesn't make any sense."

"Four times?"

"Yeah. As a baby, during first year, during fourth year and during fifth."

Theo whistled. "I didn't realise he survived the Dark Lord first year as well. That must have been the whole business with the awarding of points at the end of that year."

"Yeah." It was Draco's turn to kick at a passing peacock.

Theo chuckled. "Of course. When you say that Potter cannot possibly be the next great Dark Lord, it is your jealousy speaking."

Trust Theo to put his finger right on the sore and chuckle about it. Draco didn't say anything.

"Sorry."

"Really."

"What is with you and apologies, Draco? Just take the damn apology."

"You know what I really want."

Theo was silent. "I cannot do that. Not right now."

"Why not?"

"Do you want to tell me what you've been doing in the Room of Requirement?"

"I would, Theo," said Draco, bluffing, "if you got yourself a Dark Mark. Or do you fancy us both getting into trouble with _him_."

Theo looked at him with sunken eyes that Draco had somehow missed before. Had he not been sleeping over break? "Did you ask your father?"

"Yes," said Draco. "He didn't tell me a thing."

Theo's eyes, deep and inscrutable, roved over him. Then, a shrug. "I can't help you."

"Fine," hissed Draco. "Don't even _think_ about pretending we're friends until this shit is over." He made to leave.

"It is not like you, Draco," observed Theo, "to make enemies like this."

"So you would be my enemy?" he said, not even turning back.

"No," was the soft response. "But I could be."

.

* * *

.

The incident with Theo left Draco in a foul mood for the rest of the week. His daily appointment with Snape was the only lively point of the whole break and though he had looked forward so to going home before break, by Easter Sunday, Draco wanted nothing more than to return to the castle.

He caught the Hogwarts Express early that morning with Snape. His father still could not leave the Manor and his mother was busy entertaining guests. And so Draco and Snape waited, two figures dressed in solemn black amongst the colourful Easter robes that most of the wizards and witches seeing their underclassmen children had donned.

Curiously, many of the parents came over to take shake Snape's hand, with the type of courteous bowing he had only seen people do to his father and Ministry higher-ups.

On the train, they found a closed compartment and sat together in silence, Snape contemplating the rotating three-dimensional castle which projected from his sketch.

Draco let his mind wander on the train, happy for once to be returning to school. At school, at least, there would be Quidditch games and Artihmancy equations to distract him. And Astoria would be there. And Granger. Granger, with her questions and her irrational kindness. Granger, who he needed to stay away from because he was still dreaming—

"Do you think you are all caught up in your classes?"

Draco glanced up, meeting his professor's eyes before returning his gaze to the window. "Er—yes, I think so. At least, homework-wise. I don't think I'll catch up in Ancient Runes or Astronomy any time soon though."

Snape was looking at him rather strangely, as if someone had twisted something in his throat. "Ancient Runes and Astronomy."

"Yes," said Draco.

Recovering, his professor said smoothly, "Two subjects I am not proficient in, I am afraid. Miss Granger, I have heard, is quite talented in both."

Draco met his gaze again, wondering if the man had delved into his mind. It was easy to see into the top layer of someone's mind when they were deep in thought and hadn't taken precautions to shield their minds. If he had, he would have seen Draco's dream from last night, where he and Granger were working together on a runic translation and she kept explaining why his translations weren't valid, and then he shut her up by kissing her—

Snape cleared his throat. "I always liked Ancient Runes," he said absently as he flicked various renditions of the castle all around him so that ghostly, three-dimensional blue structures floated all around him.

It suddenly struck Draco that he had been incredibly dull. Was Snape not a Death Eater who he trusted? Would he know why Theo was acting this way?

"Professor," Draco said, plunging right in when Snape sat back in his chair and flicked his eyes towards Draco. "Why does Theo say I should talk to my father?"

"Ah." A long pause followed this sound. "Do you know what your father has been doing the past few months?"

"Being a servant for the Dark Lord, of course."

"Yes. You are a servant as well. And you have a task. What do you imagine your father's task might be?"  
.

* * *

Half an hour later, Draco was still trying to wrap his head around everything his Professor had said. "So the Dark Lord has my father threatening people, including Blaise's mum and Mr. Parkinson for money?"

"Why him?"

A grimace, probably at Draco's stupidity. "Why do you think, Draco?"

"But they already pledged their loyalty."

"Yes, and they already had time to prepare… to stash their gold somewhere safe. Breaking into Gringotts isn't easy, Draco, and there are other goblin banks in Europe…"

"What does it have to do with Theo?"

"Mrs. Zabini thinks that if she marries a Death Eater, her gold will be safe. This is a fairly accurate assessment on the whole, except, of course," Snape nodded at Draco, "when your family mansion is chosen as the Headquarters and your inheritance bleeds away each day your home serves as the unofficial headquarters of the Dark Lord's camp."

Draco ignored this quip on his fortune. "But Theo's father is a famed widower! Hasn't looked at a woman since his mother passed away. And Blaise's mum, she knows that! I remember her mocking him two years ago at mother's birthday party."

"He is also old, in disgrace with the Dark Lord, and not as rich now as he once was. But it doesn't matter. Did you really think Blaise's last stepfather was a fool? Did you think the man didn't know her history?"

Well, yes. That was what Draco had thought.

"If she sets her sights on Theo's father, she will have him."

Draco thought through this. "Blaise despises Death Eaters."

"And now you know why."

Draco wondered how long this had been going on. He tried to remember how long Blaise had been acting coldly towards him. When had it started? This year on the Hogwarts Express? Over the summer when he and Pansy showed up late to Blaise's party? Or maybe it had started last year when Blaise had insisted that the Inquisitorial Squad was a waste of time, and increased so gradually that Draco had hardly been able to tell?

But it still didn't make sense. Draco said, "If she marries Mr. Nott, she won't be able to kill him. The Dark Lord would not take kindly to that."

"Not while the war continues."

"And when the war ends…"

"Exactly."

"And Theo thinks Blaise can help him."

"Yes, I presume Theo would like Blaise to keep his mother away from his father. There are other single Death Eaters."

"You're single."

Snape smiled sardonically. "Yes."

"So why is Blaise holding it over Theo's head? Surely between one Death Eater stepfather and another, it hardly matters?"

Yet another pair of unfathomable black eyes studying him. Great. Just what he needed.

Snape turned both his hands over so the palms faced upwards, and then brought them out. "You would, I think, know the answer better than me."

At the journey's end, Draco returned to the Common Room to find the various sixth and seventh years playing Two Sickles and roaring over inside jokes they had developed over the break. Theo, who had returned earlier than Draco to the castle and was drinking pumpkin juice instead of firewhiskey, avoided his eyes completely and Draco understood: they were not friends anymore.

Fine by him.

.

* * *

_._

The castle's inhabitants collectively sighed when the first day of class after Easter break began again.

Well, all of them save Severus Snape. Over Easter break he had been assigned the joyous task of planning Dumbledore's death in a way that ensured the safety of the school and the death of its Headmaster. His two masters had finally agreed upon a task he should do, and of course, it was the task he had least desired to perform in all his life.

Day after day, he had sat in the Malfoy Manor library when he wasn't needed at meetings, beating his head over the task, and having only Draco Malfoy for company. The boy wasn't so bad, but he could only distract Severus for so long from his task. So school was a welcome reprieve from his thoughts. He happily welcomed Granger in for her first detention Monday evening and carried about feeling elated simply to be back at Hogwarts, a feeling he hadn't felt since—well, since he attended Hogwarts as a child.

Even after a few days, the elation did not fade; Severus felt—well—he felt understood by his students for the first time in his life. He had been admired by the Slytherins, but it was nothing compared to the quiet respect that Granger had now granted him. Or the pure _need_ that Draco sometimes displayed. The boy simply needed him, and it felt—it felt incredible. Severus would listen quietly sometimes at the door, hoping for Granger's soft knock, or the steady one that Draco used.

.

* * *

.

For Draco, too, class was a welcome return of routine to his life. Snape stopped Draco after Defence on Monday and gave him a list of times to come to his office. The man must have taken pity on him because he managed not to run into Granger once in the dungeons. Though she still featured in his dreams, during his waking hours, she slowly slipped from his mind; he had internalized her schedule by now and knew how and when to avoid her. In class, he manipulated himself into not stealing glances at her by pointedly sitting in the centre of the front row and looking straight at the teacher for the whole period. The lack of new meetings and puzzling material to think over meant he could finally put her aside, at least in his waking hours. This meant, caught up as he was in class, Draco could finally, _finally_ enjoy his life.

Except that of course he no longer had any friends. Pansy, Theo and Blaise all ignored him completely and the other upperclassmen followed suit. Besides Crabbe and Goyle. Sort of. Vincent was growing away from him by the hour while Gregory remained his angry, dumb, incoherent, but sweet self.

Draco had never known loneliness like this. He took to sitting with Barbary and his friends at meals, no longer pretending to be on speaking terms with anyone but Astoria, who was nice enough but seemed to have sensed his waning interest.

So Draco passed the time perfecting his homework and doggedly pursuing the project on Gunhilda. He took to actively trying to teach Gregory to express his anger, which, amazingly, had great effects on Goyle's ability to concentrate and focus. Having failed most of them the first time, Gregory was taking his O.W.L.S. again soon and so Draco holed up with Gregory in the library patiently day after day, leaving only for his study sessions with Snape.

And so two weeks passed.

And of what Hermione during this time, the curious reader might ask?

Well, there is simply nothing to tell of Hermione, for Easter Break meant the end of her secrets, for a time being: there were no new detentions with Snape or encounters with Malfoy to lie about. Her conversation with Harry, though not covering the complete truth, managed to assuage her guilt a little. In fact, his words from that first Saturday morning managed to settle within her and spread, and the glow, as she liked to call it, remained.

And though it was true that she was now effectively not speaking to Parvati and Lavender during this time, and that Ron, too, was avoiding her though he looked increasingly unhappy by Lavender's side, the question was more or less avoided as Easter Break allowed Hermione to retreat into the library in the early morning and leave only late at night.

And so the curious, imaginative reader may imagine that she passed it happily, munching on sandwiches in little corners of the library and laughing with Harry. And that this happiness lasted even into the two weeks that followed, since somehow, miraculously, Malfoy was so scarce that she hardly saw him and the break seemed to have done her some good. She had finally put aside the question of Malfoy as irrelevant. Or as much as she could, which meant that she still thought, and sometimes dreamt, about Malfoy more than she had at any time previous in her life. In fact, she dreamt about him more than she had any other boy in her life.

But dreams were dreams and life was life, and Hermione had long known how to separate the two, how to pretend not to be feeling what she was feeling until it went away. She had tried and failed to rationalise away the strange interest in Malfoy that she had developed, just as she had tried and failed earlier in the year to rationalise away her liking for Ron. So she smiled every day until the act of smiling warmed her heart and she repeated Harry's words in her head every time she felt restlessness coming. And so the glow remained.

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* * *

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The twelfth of April was a beautiful Saturday and Hermione, having skipped Apparition once already, found herself skipping their morning lesson yet again.

Over break, she and Harry had finally engraved a small little ladder on the side of a tree they both particularly liked and Hermione now climbed up that ladder to the small platform she had magicked to stay there. In huge contrast to the two weeks prior to Easter break, she felt her heart had finally settled. Perhaps the real problem with secrets is when you first have to keep them. Perhaps, she thought, they eventually they grow into you and you no longer feel the need to talk of them, to let them spill out of you.

In a way, Hermione felt more satisfied than she had ever been before; intellectually, she was finally being _challenged_. She had been at her lessons with Snape for four full weeks now and Hermione could almost say she was developing—dare she say it?—a rapport with him , for at times, during their lessons, Professor Snape seemed—Hermione paused, wondering at the word she was about to use to describe _Snape_—jovial. Like so many other things Professor Snape loved, Legilimency and Occlumency could really make a claim for being arts, and Hermione had reached the point where they could now discuss such things.

In fact, on the intellectual front, her one small regret was that the book she really wanted to read was still in Snape's hands.

But as if replacing the need for the Prince, Snape himself provided quite a lot of fascinating information. One time, Hermione had been unsure how to grade a rambling response on one of the third year's quizzes which had, among other questionable things, named children's nightmares as the origin of boggarts.

Snape revealed upon questioning that boggarts, like Dementors, revelled in fear and, when given enough space, darkness and time, would multiply, and then flit off to find their own corners, awaiting their own chance to frighten whoever should find them next. Although boggarts were relatively harmless alone, hence their place in the third year curriculum, they were actually closely related to Dementors, and, before the Ministry had finally subdued them and set them to work in Azkaban, Dementors and boggarts had often haunted dark places together, each feeding off the misery the other produced.

His knowledge in Potions was just as deep, and just Wednesday night she had managed to draw him into a theoretical discussion on the effects of using crushed bigelow's adderstongue in place of powdered root of asphodel in the Draught of Living Dead. Their magical properties were similar, and during Slughorn's lecture Tuesday on harvesting potions ingredients, Hermione had hypothesised that the Fetid Adder's Tongue family was under-utilised in Potions due to its late discovery in the western United States.

Snape had looked rather surprised but also quite gratified when she brought up the subject and confirmed that he had indeed tried and the Draught worked similarly well with her suggested alternative, but said he suspected that crushing the adderstongue was actually depriving the Draught of some power. Looking pensive, he then suggested that they do some experiments when time would allow. Hermione had nearly laughed—they barely had time enough to teach her to protect her own mind, it seemed—but the idea had intrigued her.

She was lost in the contemplation of this when below her, in the shade of the tree, a group of upperclassmen Slytherin girls gathered.

"Any ideas for tonight's theme?" said Pansy, who was clearly the head of the little group despite being a sixth year.

"Greek legends," said Astoria Greengrass, who Hermione took a chance to evaluate now. She really was a pretty girl, full lips and sleek, shiny dark brown hair. Little wonder that the upperclassmen had let her into their circle despite her being a fourth year.

"Oh, poo," said the seventh year Slytherin prefect. "We did Romans two months ago."

"Vampires," suggested Tracey. "Glamour Charms required. We can nominate Dracula and Carmilla at midnight."

The girls seemed to like this idea. They began to chatter about the transformations needed to turn their common room into Bran castle. Curious about the Slytherin parties, to which other Houses were rarely invited, Hermione set down her book and began to listen.

"Doesn't this strike you as similar to what we did for Halloween?" Astoria remarked to the general public.

"I think so," said Millicent, who had been rather quiet until now. "And two weeks ago, we already did a party where we nominated—"

"Hush, Millie," said Pansy, who had only moments before been considering quietly Astoria's words. "You just don't like Tracey's idea because she's won it twice and you have no chance at all."

The girls snickered at this and Millicent fell silent unhappily.

"Millicent has a point," Astoria said mildly, cutting through the giggles. "But perhaps we could change the rules this time. Magical effects required, so we'll give points for fake deaths and so on."

A long pause was followed by several of the seventh years exclaiming what a great idea it was.

Hermione's wand buzzed. She sat up with a start; Snape was expecting her in fifteen minutes. Hurriedly packing, she caught Millicent's attention.

"Guys," said Millicent, "maybe we should keep it down. I think Grang—"

The seventh year prefect from Slytherin house raised her voice, talking over Millicent completely.

When it came time to climb down from the tree, Hermione used a spell to float down instead, touching foot to the ground right at the edge of the circle the girls had formed. They fell silent. "Hello," she said pleasantly.

"Where did you pop out from?" asked Pansy. It was rude, but without much malice.

Hermione pointed to the tree. "I was studying up there."

"Oh." Pansy looked lost for words. "Well, there's nothing going on here, so move along now Granger."

Hermione moved away, but she could hear Pansy saying loudly as she left, "Millie, didn't I say it was your job to watch and make sure we weren't overheard?"

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* * *

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Dungeons, his office. Miss Granger's Saturday afternoon detention.

_He was alone at the park, hoping for a flash of red-hair…He was studying in the Slytherin common room when several upperclassmen entered. They ordered him to go to the Kitchens and fetch them something. He refused. Pushing him up against the wall, they began to send little shocks of magic at him. Half-blood, they said, do you think you can refuse us?_ No, that was private. That was enough. Severus pushed hard at the presence in his mind.

When he came back into possession of his mind fully, he broke a piece of chocolate in half and handed one half to Granger. "Good," he said. Excellent, actually. She really was excellent. So excellent, in fact, that Severus wondered just how emotionally compartmentalized Granger might be.

Tonight, she had managed only once to break through his barriers, but once she got in, she had proved hardy and persistent, slowly teasing out the memories. He pointed to the stacks of essays he had laid out. "Now, do you have any questions on memory falsification, or can you start grading?"

"I can start grading, Professor," Granger answered in her clear voice, evidently recovered from whatever thoughts had been crowding her mind when she first entered his office. She set to work, businesslike, but as usual, could not resist a few questions. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger."

"Is…that common?"

"Is what common?"

"The bullying of… half-bloods in Slytherin house."

"It is not common," he replied. "But neither is it uncommon." This did not seem a sufficient answer, so he clarified, "Sometimes there is something about a child that incites bullying amongst the other children, and I was no doubt, at the time, one of those children. I doubt that any of the Slytherin half-bloods in your year have endured anything similar."

"They're not very nice to Millicent when no one else is around," Granger muttered.

"No, they're not," he agreed, "but we know that to be a different sort of bullying."

Looking sad, Granger bent her head down to start on the papers. They were silent a long time, both lost in their thoughts. At the appropriate time, she bade him good evening and departed for dinner.

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* * *

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The glow ended with a spectacular bang! at dinner that night.

Hermione slipped into an empty seat between Neville and Harry and asked what she thought was a relatively harmless question. "How do blood purists feel about half-bloods?"

Neville took her question at face value, beginning a discussion on the history of half-blood discrimination within the Ministry. Hermione knew that there had never been a Minister who was not a pure-blood, but Neville's statistics were deeper. Ginny, who sat across Hermione, was also a veritable hotbed of information and a few of the students in her year also joined the conversation.

"So let me get this straight," said Dean, sitting to Ginny's left. "Though thirty percent of Ministry Department heads have been half-bloods in the past twenty years, all of them save one have been half-bloods with recognisable old, pure-blood last names?"

"That's right," said Ginny. "Awful, isn't it?"

"It seems to be another one of those cases of hidden sexism in the wizarding world," mused Hermione. "A pure-blood wizard can marry anyone he pleases and be sure that his children have a fighting chance, but a pure-blood witch can't."

"It's similar in the Muggle world," Dean pointed out. "It's more a matter of who's passing on their last name than anything else."

"Right, that's why women are so much harder to track throughout history," agreed Demelza Robins, who was going through an activist phase which Hermione had experienced in fourth year, albeit for a different cause. "Same thing goes for changing one's last name. It should all be done away with. It's almost the twenty-first century, for crying out loud!"

"Children could take their mother's last name when her name's the older one," suggested Jimmy Peakes, who was eager to agree with Demelza.

"But that puts Muggle-borns at a double disadvantage, because they'll be the only ones with no 'recognisable' last name," countered Dean.

"More to the point," said Hermione, "it emphasises a child's magical heritage when the whole point is to do away with such prejudice. It's a short term solution to a long-term problem."

"So you would really keep your own last name if you got married?" Ritchie Coote asked Demelza. "I thought people only did that when they got divorced—"

"Oh, pooh on your old family values," said Demelza, her fork clanging down on her plate as she turned to face him. "It should all be unmade." Behind her, Jimmy was frantically shaking his head at Coote.

Ginny burst into laughter, catching Hermione's eye and winking. "What do you think, Peakes? What would you want your future wife to do?" she said.

"Oh, it doesn't matter to me," said Jimmy quickly, throwing Ginny a grateful glance. "It's her name so I figure it's none of my business."

"And what about the children?" said Demelza, turning to look approvingly at Jimmy.

"Er—well, I think that'd be up for discussion," came the reply.

Demelza flashed Jimmy a grin. "Say, wasn't there some Quidditch manoeuvre you said you wanted to practice?" Both were quickly gone from the table.

The girls who had been farther down the table, Romilda Vane's clique, shifted into the empty seats.

"Don't take it so hard, Ritchie," Romilda said. She pursed her lips but let the edges curve upwards in that special, flirtatious smile Hermione had never managed. "There are lots of girls who are still for the more traditional ways."

Ritchie looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, I'm not saying I'd force my wife to change her last name," he said. "I just…"

Dean took advantage of his pause to return the conversation to its previous place before Jimmy and Demelza hijacked it. "Hermione's right, though," he said. "The problems are tied together; they reinforce each other."

"Some of us like the old ways," Romilda said, her eyes still on Ritchie.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," snapped Ginny. "Can you get your head off boys for once and talk about the topic at hand?"

"What's this?" said Seamus, breaking away from the intense Quidditch conversation he, Ron and Harry had been having.

Hermione filled the boys in while Romilda and Ginny traded a few barbs.

Harry looked thoughtful. "It's true, isn't it?" he said. "I've probably had it easier than Seamus, for example—no offence, Seamus—because my last name's Potter."

"None taken," said Seamus mildly.

"But you're also _Harry Potter_," said Ginny.

"Right," said Harry lamely. "I just… Well, yeah."

"I think Dean's right," said Hermione, thinking that perhaps being Muggle-born, or at least raised by Muggles, had impacted the way she, Harry and Dean thought. "It's just another symptom of the ignorance that is perpetrated by the wizarding community. They take so many things as facts _just because_. Like house elves, for example—"

"But house elves _do_ like to serve," said Neville earnestly, forgetting, apparently, his own involvement in S.P.E.W. "Hermione, they do. We have one at home and she's just the same way as all the elves here."

"They may like to serve but that doesn't mean they shouldn't be paid," said Hermione, shrill. "Just because they've internalized the injustice which—"

"That's just false," said Ritchie, who was young enough not to remember Hermione's SP.E.W. Campaign. "Everyone knows house elves were born to serve. It's their greatest desire to do so. Insisting that they be paid is an insult."

"Back me up here," said Hermione, turning to Ron and Harry. "You're the Treasurer and Secretary of S.P.E.W.!"

"Er," said Ron. "Well…er…elves are Beings aren't they?"

"The point is that everyone in the wizarding world just _knows things_. That's _just the way it is_," said Dean. "It shouldn't be like that. Muggle science is all about doing studies and sampling error and so on."

"But that's because they don't have magic!" said Ritchie. "They _need_ those things. We don't."

"I don't see how you can say that," Hermione said, frowning. "Just because we're magic doesn't mean basic mathematics doesn't hold."

"Well, I think Ritchie's point is more that centuries of wizarding knowledge just can't be wrong," said Ginny, coming to Ritchie's rescue.

"Except that everything we know is wrong," said Harry. "Time and time again, especially when it comes to well, things concerning me, wizarding consensus has just been flat out wrong."

"A hive mind," said Hermione, finally getting to the point which she had not even been aware she was trying to make. "That's what it is. Traditional wizarding society is a hive-mind and everyone just follows along."

"I think that's a little harsh," said Ritchie. "There's some healthy debate, right?"

"To the contrary," said Hermione. "The Daily Prophet writes whatever it pleases and everyone just believes it!"

"Current events, perhaps," said Ritchie. "But on issues like blood, there has been some healthy debate."

"I would argue that the debate has been extremely narrow," said Hermione.

"Well that's just not true, Hermione," said Ron, in the type of condescending, patient tone boys often used on girls, the tone Hermione hated most. "Take Dad for example. He loves Muggles!"

"And that's exactly what I'm talking about!" snapped Hermione, jumping up. Somehow Ron's defence of Ritchie made her far angrier than Ginny's, or than Ritchie's own defence of himself. "Just because you love Muggles doesn't mean you know the first thing about them or respect them!"

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, genuinely surprised and a little hurt. "Of _course_ Dad respects Muggles. He talks about how fascinating they are all the time!"

"Mr. Weasley does love Muggles," said Harry, trying to make peace. "You remember his collection, Hermione?"

"Who could forget?" said Hermione, aware that her reaction was out of proportion but unwilling to curb her anger to spare Ron's feelings. When in the past few months had he thought to spare hers? "After the tour I got—"

"So you didn't like Dad's collection—" said Ron.

"No, I merely wonder why I, the _Muggle-born_, was the only one to get the tour, Ron. Didn't occur to your oh-so-perfect father to give Harry a tour now, did it? Despite the fact that Harry grew up as a Muggle just like me!"

The rest of the table edged away, not wanting to get between two prefects. They were sitting alone again, Harry sandwiched awkwardly in between them.

"I can't believe this!" said Ron. "What do you want Dad to do?"

"I want him to—" Hermione took a deep breath. "I just want him, and the other so-called "enlightened" wizards like Dumbledore to acknowledge that far too little has been done on the social front in the wizarding world. I want them to treat Muggles like _peopl_e not—not curiosities! I want the ignorance to end."

"But we're not ignorant," said Ron loudly. "I know all about electricity and that fellytone Muggles use to talk."

A mean, hollow laugh erupted from Hermione before she could stop it. "The fellytone…honestly, Harry." She bent over the table, clutching her hands to her stomach and feigning even more laughter. "The fellytone!"

"Look, guys, maybe we could save this for later?" said Harry slowly.

"No," said Ron hotly. "I want to know what Hermione thinks should be done instead, since she thinks we're all so ignorant."

"Well, you are, don't you know that?" said Hermione. "How many days would you survive in the Muggle world without magic, Ron? Two?"

"But I don't live in the Muggle world!" exclaimed Ron. "I live in the wizarding world! And so do you! You're a witch, Hermione, and witches live in _our_ world."

"Our world, is it? Our world as compared to theirs!"

"Well, it's true," Ron said defensively, not noticing the silence. "Muggles don't understand. They don't even know."

"Because we Obliviate them!" cried Hermione in ringing voice. The chatter in the Great Hall died down to observe what was going on between them. "Because _we_, the witches and wizards, force the separation on both worlds! You've never even thought about it, Ron, because you didn't have to choose! Not like me, or Dean, or Harry! I know Harry hates the Dursleys but I _love_ my parents and you have no idea what it is not to be able to explain a word of what it is I do at school to them or be able to show them! And the thing is, its just as much 'good' people like your Dad and Dumbledore as it is the Death Eaters or traditionalists who allow the status quo to continue, who ensure that Muggle-borns like me have to choose!"

"Well, isn't that just it?" Ron was shouting now too. "You just want to have it both ways! But you can't, Hermione! The worlds are separate for good reasons and you know it! Sometimes you've got to choose. And the thing is, everyone _does_ choose. And _everyone_ chooses the wizarding world."

Once again, just like their encounter in the library, Hermione was first to break. "Sorry, Harry. I can't—" she said before she was running out the Hall, her quick steps echoing against a deafening silence.

That night, Hermione sat in the same window seat in the common room from where she had watched the first years leave with their suitcases, morosely blowing warm air on the window pane and then rubbing it off. Her thoughts were centred around the injustice of it all. Why should Millicent Bulstrode be talked over all the time while Astoria Greengrass sat like a queen among the Slytherin upperclassmen girls despite her age simply because Astoria, and not Millicent, possessed beauty? Why should pure-bloods bully half-bloods in the Slytherin common room? Why should Muggle-borns like her be forced to leave their Muggle heritage behind?

Slowly, piece by piece, her dissatisfaction shaped itself into anger. She was angry at everything, it seemed. From the way the two worlds had to be split and did indeed seem to be safer, at least for the time being, when split, to the way Dumbledore was hiding out at Hogwarts instead of claiming the power that could be his and affecting change on this old, broken society, to the way she and all her friends had acquiesced to the vain mistress Beauty and allowed it to sway their actions and clothing, everything was wrong and it seemed only she realised it. When her thoughts turned to Harry, Harry who was making it impossible for her to tell him what he really wanted to know by his adamant refusal to learn Occlumency even now after learning the dangers, she felt angry at herself for being angry at him. What right did she have to be angry at Harry, who had so much else on his plate? And what right did she have to feel so restless, so dissatisfied, so unhappy when all around her people were losing their family?

It's not fair, she thought then. I just want to learn. I don't want to feel these things. Why can't I just stop?  
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* * *

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Oh, Hermione. How much it hurts to be young.

If only such bargains were possible: On this platter, I lay out my heart, my insecurities, all the secrets of my soul, and I trade them in for certainty, rationality, proof and knowledge. Tonight, I count up my unhappiness, tally it, and define it, hoping that knowing it and understanding it will lessen its power over me.

But don't you see, Hermione? In the act of putting a feeling to words, something is always lost. And that part would remain, festering and growing inside you, and still ineffable. And if you could describe it, carve it out of your soul, and bid it farewell, if you could do those things, then you wouldn't be human anymore. And then there would be nothing worth living for at all.

Or so they say. And so it goes.  
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* * *

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Where does an idea begin? Severus could never decide whether the moment it formed, crystallised in one's mind marked the beginning, or if vague whispers, flashes were the true beginning.

Severus had told the Dark Lord that Draco was special to him. This was not untrue; there had been a time during the boy's fifth year when Severus could hardly stand him, but this year, even with Draco's suspicions, he had felt moved by pity him. And five weeks of almost constant exposure had reminded Severus of Draco's intelligence and perseverance.

But there was, of course, another student of great intelligence and perseverance who Severus had been working closely with recently. Hermione Granger. What would the Dark Lord have said if he had subsequently told the him of his increasing fondness for Potter's best friend, a fondness more and more—dare he think it?—like that he would feel for a daughter.

If that was the case, did it begin when he spotted Draco's dreams about Ancient Runes and a certain girl on the Hogwarts Express? Or perhaps the first time he tested her mind on Draco and let her confusion on the boy unfold their interactions together one by one before him? Maybe it began far before that, that time he paired them up in Defence and felt the ounce of surprise at Draco's efforts to stem his attack on Granger? Or far later, when he observed, while lecturing the class on their stupidity, the boy's irritated glower at Terry Boot, who was animatedly chatting with Miss Granger? Or perhaps even later, when he realised over the course of two weeks, from Draco's new position in class, the lengths to which the boy was willing to go to avoid the girl?

Even after Draco slunk out of his office at three in the morning the night of Granger's explosion in the Great Hall, it wasn't yet an idea. It was an impression. An impression of Granger's tear-stained face rushing out of the Great Hall after her loud, logically infallible declaration of the central injustice in her life and Draco's contemplative expression as his eyes followed her out, gazing at the door through which she had disappeared long after she had gone. It was a flash of remembering Granger's sad face as she contemplated Millicent Bulstrode and Draco's silent, dogged refusal to acknowledge anything in his life but his studies. It was an impression that both often left his office happier than when they had entered it and an impression that took in Granger's disjointed emotional state which allowed her to excel at Occlumency and Draco's proud refusal to bow to the new order in Slytherin House. It was just an impression. But, it may also have been the beginning.

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(Part III) A/N: Long chapter this week. There wasn't a good place to break it. Sorry if it was hard to take in one sitting. Have a wonderful weekend! -raa

(Part II) **A/N:** At last we have some clarity on Theo. A huge thank you, as always, for the reviews and also the follows/favorites. Happy Memorial Day weekend for the Americans (like me)! A happy weekend to everyone else all the same (: -raa

**minimazer:** Thank you minimazer for the review and the kind words! Sometimes I worry that I lose readers because the dramione is too slowly paced, but something within me refuses to let them move any quicker, so it's good to get some reassurance.

**El:** hello El! Thank you for your review! Yes, I hope their relationship progresses too *hint hint* and they come to a better understanding of each other's similar situations. You know, plots unfold in strange ways and sometimes it's like hitting your head against a brick wall trying to move from point A to point B and other times, it's just like pouring water. Invention springs up all around you. You should write fics too! It's not as hard as it seems.

**Amber-Theriot:** Thank you! Hope this hits the spot.

**Guest:** It's for people like you I leave these huge A/N at the end because there's no way to PM you. Well that, and because I personally love reading reviews and responses in other fics. Thank you for reviewing! Theo and Draco's friendship is one of my fav things so I'm sure they'll make up... eventually. Maybe? :P Sorry, it's hard not to tease. Happy summer! I hope you have a good one! (HAGS! as we used to say at my high school.)

**SoulessxWarrior:** I like to see the trio get along too and I always wish there would be less Ron-bashing but now that I'm writing this I can see why it's easy to start Ron-bashing... Sometimes I feel bad that Ron is being this way, but then I remember that canon is from Harry's point of view and during sixth year, Hermione and Ron really do hit a rough patch.

**SoulessXWarrior:** Hehe you are the best. I love having this ongoing conversation with you. Yes I think Draco is in a little deeper than he intended...ahah poor guy. Hope the conversation with Harry was enlightening! I love Harry as a character and I feel like a lot of the times in "dramione" he just grows distant from her for no reason. His lack of involvement makes sense because Harry is dealing with the worst possible pressure and he's justifiably very self-involved, but I wanted to show that their friendship is still really strong.

**mh21:** I see you found H&V... I will PM you some more (: but YAY FEMINISM!

**GinnyRules:** Sorry :X it looks like you'll have to wait even more! But I think that this Theo thing has been teased for even longer so it's nice to make some progress on that.

**Amber611:** Thank you for the review! Hope this hits this spot!

**stephmarie995: **Yeah I think one of the problems with serial fiction is always narrative bloat. I'm sorry that you think the other parts drag, but I promise I'm not just fleshing out characters or scenes because I'm in love with my own words, although I am pretty wordy...as this review reply demonstrates. Most of the scenes serve a purpose. Thank you for the review!

**golojolo: **Wow that's some pretty incredible insight into Blaise and it definitely makes me dislike the portrayals that I have seen of him for not including any of that! Hopefully my take on some of what is going on in Blaise's head will leave up to your standards. Glad to know that you think the "dramione" is moving at a realistic pace.

**GinnyRules**: Aah. Thank you so much for leaving multiple reviews as you were reading. I hate disrupting my flow to review when I'm reading fics so I definitely appreciate it. Concerning the Circe swear - YAY someone picked up on it! Hmm. I definitely didn't mean for the "drama" to come off as fratty. I'd like to know your thoughts on the drama after getting to know Pansy a little more, finding out what's going on in Lavender's life, and also...after the next two or so chapters when Theo's intentions become more clear. And finally, haha I enjoy writing Toadface so she will be making a return!

**ordinary vamp: **Keep reading the fic near the end of each week, ie Thursday or Friday and you'll never have to wait long for an update (at least for the next two months.. lol). Or if you want, you can read over at H&V. Draco and Hermione get some moments... soon?


	10. One Morning, Three Conversations

**Chapter 9:** **One Morning, Three Conversations**

_In which we have, you guessed it!, three conversations_

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They had dimmed the lights in the office.

For once, Severus could not see the interested eyes of the portraits sizing him up, judging him. Even after all they had witnessed between him and Dumbledore, there were still some which still found his repentance doubtful: once a sinner, always a sinner.

Severus unrolled his scroll and raised the inky walls he had drawn up so that together, they formed into the ghostly three-dimensional model he had perfected. The eerie blue colour of the model castle spread over the office.

When the model had expanded fully, Severus shut his eyes to better form the dark, shadowy figures which now emerged from his wand. He directed them to the wall opposite a mini-tapestry on the seventh floor of the model castle.

"I have arranged for you to be on your own. The Astronomy Tower"—Severus lit a light in the appropriate spot, and already a miniature Dumbledore, purple robes swirling behind him, was pacing back and forth on the platform— "is far from the rest of the castle, and easy to access from the Room of Requirement. This means only the Gryffindor common room will be in any way convenient for attack."

Dumbledore heaved a sigh, watching the figures spread and meet in choreographed battle with miniaturised versions of the Order members. "Indeed," he said, stroking his beard. It was an affectation he had picked up only this year. "And Draco will be?"

Severus flicked his wand and another figure, thin and blonde crept up the Astronomy staircase. The miniature Draco reached the top of the Astronomy tower and drew its wand. "Leading them to you. He'll find you first and the others will hang back to give him a chance."

"And you will come with the others."

"Yes."

"Come sooner than that," said Dumbledore. "It is of utmost importance that _you_ be the one to kill me. The Death Eaters will get restless as Draco hesitates. You must arrive before someone steps up to take his place. Voldemort will never trust you until I am dead by your hand."

Everything must fall into place; every person play their role. That was ever Dumbledore's way.

Feeling bitter, Severus flicked his wand at the miniature Draco and a little beam of green light shot out of its wand towards the miniature Dumbledore. If the man insisted on dying, at least he could have the grace to die by someone else's hand. If by Draco's, even better.

But the miniature Dumbledore merely side-stepped the curse; Dumbledore, the larger, had interfered. Their eyes met. Dumbledore gestured amusedly at the figures. "So you believe he will be capable of completing his task?"

"I have no doubt that he can," replied Severus. "He is a capable wizard."

"Draco is not a killer."

How would you know, Severus wanted to ask. Have you seen the boy lately? Because I have. He is angry enough to kill you twice over. With a little _luck_ on his side, perhaps he really could achieve it. And if he really wanted it, I wouldn't deny him that, even if I want his master to die. For lying to him as I do, I owe him that much.

Severus resumed his direction of the miniature Draco; its wand emitted beam after beam of green light at the surprisingly nimble miniature Dumbledore, who kept side-stepping the curse.

"I am dying, Severus," said Dumbledore, voice cutting through Severus' concentration. "You know that." Severus could feel his lip curling; he met the Headmaster's gaze evenly but flicked his wand once more at the Draco; this time the green light hit its target. The miniature Dumbledore sunk to the ground in a flurry of purple robes.

There was a pause.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I will die, whether by your hand or by slow disintegration. The curse eats at me. You can, Severus, grant an old man dignity in death."

"You could have lived to a grand old age," said Severus. They had hashed over this very vein of argument dozens of times now, but Severus was as unwilling as ever to let it rest. It was not merely a matter of the man dying; he would not miss the man; he could hardly count Dumbledore as a friend. It was a matter of _wisdom_. Sometimes sacrificing a queen on a chessboard made sense. But Dumbledore was not the queen; he was the one sitting opposite the Dark Lord at the chess table. He was the only wizard alive who could match the Dark Lord wit for wit, spell for spell and Severus wanted to know what if he had even considered that fact before resigning himself to death. What if Dumbledore was wrong and everything fell apart? Did he intend to direct the action from the grave too?

"But you see Severus, I _have_ lived to a 'grand old age.' I am content."

"Then you could live longer! If only you had come to me sooner. If only you had not put on the ring. _Why_ did you put it on? How could you have?"

"It was a…curiosity," said Dumbledore. "That's what happens when one becomes old, you understand."

Severus let the silence between them pass for assent. He would get nothing better than that out of Dumbledore, not tonight or any other night. Picking the ring up from where it sat between them, he turned it over in his hands. The stone was dull and smooth. Severus examined the stone, running his thumb over it, before saying, "Slytherin was a vain man. And yet. Such a plain ring. Even Ravenclaw's diadem, a tool for knowledge and wisdom, is more impressive than this."

Dumbledore watched Severus play with the ring. "I believe it was already a family heirloom by the time it came to Slytherin's hands, unlike Ravenclaw's diadem, which she fashioned herself. A shame it is lost."

Severus had been waiting for this moment. He gripped the edge of the diadem so that the edges stuck out and caught a little of the eerie blue light. "I found a curious object a few weeks ago when Draco led me back into the castle from the Manor through the Room of Requirement."

Severus drew the diadem out of his pocket. Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes followed it and became even more alert its form became clear. Severus set the diadem next to Slytherin's ring on Dumbledore's desk. Two relics of the Founding Days, reunited at last.

The blue in the room was drawn to the jewel in the diadem; it entered and diffused. The room was now lit in a lighter, more knowing blue. Silence was slowly replaced with a rising buzz; the portraits had begun leaning out of their frames to mutter to each other.

Dumbledore held up a hand. Once again, Phineas Nigellus was the last to fall silent, his nasal voice louder than the others. "Foolish of the Founders, I always said! Leaving a room like that, with so many properties, open for all the students to—"

"Please, Phineas," said Dumbledore. The portrait grumbled, but grudgingly obeyed.

Dumbledore picked it up and turned it over in his hands. "There's a curse in the jewel," he said. "And one around the rim here, if one should place it on one's head."

Severus had spent a whole evening—a Tuesday night when Draco and Miss Granger both were occupied with Astronomy—working at the diadem before uncovering those two curses and understanding what would trigger them. But it seemed Albus Dumbledore needed only a glance to understand. So how, he wondered once again, did a wizard such as Dumbledore fall prey to the curse on Slytherin's ring? What do you know about that ring that you aren't telling me, he wanted to ask.

"Did you try the curses?"

"I thought," said Severus, sounding more sullen than he had intended, "that I would wait to work on them, perhaps attacking them with an able wizard near me, so that if anything should happen, I would not endanger thousands of lives with my impatience."

"Yes, of course," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling with infuriating amusement. Before Severus could put in another line, Dumbledore continued. "Do you mind if I borrow it? It is yours now, I believe, if you found it. Most magical objects such as these have allegiances."

"Like wands."

Dumbledore inclined his head in a way that Severus himself was particularly fond of. "Yes."

The man had to be mocking him. Severus swallowed the bitterness and played along. "There are two powerful curses on it."

"And I doubt, should the diadem really be a powerful object which grants wisdom, that it would pledge allegiance to the man who laid these curses."

This was new. "You are sure it is…_his_ magic?"

"Yes. All magic is distinctive, you know this. It leaves traces." Dumbledore ran his hand along the rim, his fingers traveling over the smaller inset stones. "I taught Tom Riddle. He had a knack for flashy magic. Very much like some of his forefathers."

Severus pieced the information together. "Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket… You don't mean to say that he used Founder's relics as—"

"I do."

Severus realised the time. It was almost ten o'clock and he had to be in the Great Hall at precisely ten. He nodded sharply and rose. "It is yours as long as you need it."

"Severus—do forgive me, but I have forgotten to inquire after Miss Granger."

Finally, an item of relative cheer. "As well as can be expected," said Severus. "If you had found it within yourself to live until next year, then, considering your low standards, you might have found her a worthwhile candidate for a Headmaster's class."

"Yes," said Dumbledore sadly. "I wish I had time for her too. So many talented students in this generation I did not have time for. In Hermione's year alone, I count at least a half a dozen who I would have liked very much to instruct in the Headmaster's seventh year class."

Severus knew that Dumbledore could read the blank look on his face: _Half a dozen? Really?_

The Headmaster gave a slight chuckle which did not erase the sad look in his eyes. "You are too hard on the children. If I were to choose a class…Hermione, Harry, Susan Bones and Draco, definitely. Ah, Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchey too." At Severus' expression, Dumbledore chuckled some more. "Come now, Severus. They are all exceptionally talented, you must admit it."

Bones he could definitely admit, and Finch-Fletchey had a certain persistence, he supposed, though no talent for Potions. "Terry Boot," said Severus, doubtingly. "Harry Potter."

Dumbledore's face had taken on a pensive expression. "It's been some time since I had a Headmaster's class, but I suppose I would also include Theo Nott. And Ernie Macmillan." The Headmaster continued to list students, each student more dim-witted than the one who had come before. The prefects. Most of the Ravenclaws. "Late bloomers" like Tracey Davis, Dean Thomas and Kevin Entwhistle.

Severus cut the Headmaster off. Why, just yesterday, Entwhistle had seen fit to submit yet another tear-laden scroll filled with errors. "You've named half their year. Theo I might condescend to add to the list. And Tracey. The others…Why even have a Headmaster's class if you insist on teaching them all?"

The Headmaster's face lit up in genuine amusement. "The old argument. Which is why the Board of Governors expressed their disapproval at my teaching the class at all: what was the point, if anyone who was interested could attend?"

"Indeed, what is the point?"

"Don't you see, Severus? Every student is capable of great magic, when the circumstances are right. As teachers, we merely seek to create the right circumstances—"

"If six years of schooling have failed to elicit any great demonstration of talent, then I don't suppose an extra class could make any difference."

"But still you admit that there are six of them at least in their year." Dumbledore listed them out again and added, "Surprising."

"Draco and Hermione Granger are a tier above the rest," said Severus. He paused before allowing, "Susan Bones too, I suppose."

Dumbledore popped a lemon sherbet in his mouth and his face took on a blissful expression. "Yes, did you hear that she was the first to manage partial Apparition?"

"And Miss Granger first to achieve full Apparition."

Dumbledore smiled. "So you are not upset I asked you to teach her?"

Last night, in the midst of tired sentimentality, Severus had reflected that she was growing on him, but morning brought sharper thoughts to him now: Granger might be intelligent and hard-working, talented even, but she was still an insecure, overeager brat who thought that she could earn respect by showing off. Upset? No, he supposed not. But neither was he overjoyed. "It seems to have damaged her friendships somewhat."

Ironically, for the first time today, Dumbledore looked truly concerned. "She and Harry are not getting along?"

"No," said Severus. "They seem as fast friends as ever. Even she and Weasley seem to get along, superficially."

"Ah." Dumbledore seemed to find that irrelevant as he immediately switched topics. "And you are sure you will finish her instruction before the year's end?"

"Are you suggesting I work her harder?" Did Dumbledore intend for him to have any time at all? Severus was barely keeping up as was, and that was only by virtue of assigning Granger most of the first and second years' work to grade.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "I am sorry, Severus, but it worries me; if she were caught with an incomplete set of Occlumency skills, it would be even more dangerous—it would come out that you really did try to instruct her."

What the girl needed now was less formal instruction and more random testing. She could perform when asked to, but her thoughts were still open for anyone to read as she walked about the castle. He had often gotten glimpses of her thought processes, especially on the state of her unhappy friendships, while she was grading. Ironic, that, Dumbledore's unconcern for her emotional well-being when all he preached was love. "So you are not worried about her unhappiness?"

"Perhaps she is merely going through that age, as many children do," said Dumbledore. "Harry's fifth year, for example, he was quite upset with the world."

That was when Draco had been insufferable as well, but of course Potter had been worse, on account of his being Potter.

"But perhaps she does need some new friends," mused Dumbledore. "Can you think of anyone?"

Could he think of anyone besides Potter and Weasley who could abide being condescended to in everyday interaction? Surely not.

Dumbledore seemed to read his face, though Severus was sure not a muscle had moved. "No? A pity." He picked the lemon sherbet tin up and held it out to Severus. "I recall that age as particularly lonesome as well, especially while I was lost in the throes of adolescent love. One could say that back then, I thought Transfiguration would be the only dependable source of love in my life."

Severus reluctantly accepted the tin.

"It occurs to me," said Dumbledore, "that Lucius Malfoy's boy seems rather lonely of late as well."

Severus almost sputtered on the boiled sweet he had only just popped into his mouth, but recovered just in time. "Are you—are you suggesting—"

"Of course not. Merely that loneliness is infectious."

Another appointment with the Headmaster. Another cryptic comment. He was an infuriating man, Dumbledore, thought Severus as he stood on the turning spiral staircase, tongue running along the inside of his cheeks, where the sweet-sour taste of the sweet remained. Always more secrets, more hints, stringing each person along by their weaknesses. And in Severus' case, by Lily's memory. Not just weaknesses, but emotions.

From behind him, he heard the muffled voices of the portraits come alive, exclaiming of the lost treasure of Ravenclaw, and Phineas Nigellus' voice in particular loudly proclaiming, "How do you know _he's_ fit to hold the power, Dumbledore? And how do you know that Slytherin boy won't take his chance, succeed, and become _its_ master first?"

"Please, my friends, perhaps next time we could wait until the staircase has finished turning to talk?" came Dumbledore's voice. "And I daresay, Phineas, that _it_ has known far worse masters than Draco Malfoy would be."

And still more secrets. What, thought Severus as he started for the Great Hall, could _it_ possibly be?

.

* * *

.

Draco woke with a start and reached immediately under his pillow for his wand. "_Tempus!_"

Ten minutes to ten o'clock! He jumped up and threw on his robe, not bothering to even change his pyjama bottoms. "Ten o'clock!" he bellowed out of habit. "Wake up!"

Goyle and Crabbe woke first, both of them still accustomed to responding automatically to Draco's commands. Draco thrust Goyle's robes into his arms. "Get dressed!" he hissed. Seeing that Theo was still asleep, he sprinted out the door to the seventh and fifth years' rooms to wake them up.

Crabbe was only lumbering out of bed when Draco returned. "What are you doing, Vince!" Draco gave up trying to get Crabbe to dress properly and simply draped Crabbe's robes over his arm, to be put on hurriedly as they ran towards the Great Hall.

He looked wildly about the room; everyone else was still asleep. He prodded Theo with his wand, sending a spark of magic along it. "Theo!" he said. "Up!"

Blaise he prodded next. The other boy rubbed at his eyes wearily. "What is it, Malfoy?" he said. "I swear, you get worse every—"

It all came back to Draco then; it was no longer his responsibility; it was Blaise's now.

But now Blaise sat up with sudden understanding. He waved his wand at his clothes and leaped off his bunk, grabbing the robes he had stashed on the lower one. "I'll wake the girls," he said.

"You seen my robes?" said Theo, who had blearily climbed out of his bunk. These were the first neutral words he had uttered to Draco in days.

Reluctantly, Draco fished Theo's robes out from amongst the discarded bottles and Exploding Snap cards on the floor and held them out disdainfully for the other boy, who was flattening his hair with his wand.

"You're golden," said Theo as they rushed up the steps to their common room. The girls were there already. Most of the sixth-years looked relatively ready, probably thanks to Pansy, though Daphne had curlers in her hair. The seventh years were worse; Draco caught a flash of skin as the seventh year prefect, Caspia, adjusted her robes. Another was hurriedly running her wand, the tip transfigured into several prongs, through her hair; her hair colour lightened as it was pulled through her makeshift comb.

They sprinted up the dungeon corridor and the main steps and slipped into the Great Hall just as the last strike of the bell signalled ten o'clock.

Draco sank down in his normal seat, the seat that had been his before. He placed two fingers at his temple and pressed, trying to pack away the pounding there. That had been entirely too close.

"Close call," said Theo, sitting down beside Draco.

For once, Blaise did not try to push Draco out and merely chose the seat opposite Draco. When he had shakily finished his glass of pumpkin juice, however, he raised an eyebrow at Draco. "Nice trousers, mate."

Draco shrugged. "We were in a hurry."

Blaise raised his shoulders and cracked his neck by tilting his head sideways. "I woke up after you, but I don't look a mess."

"Of course, you don't, Dracula," said Pansy as she and the other girls, who had stopped at the Ravenclaw table to talk a little, slid into their seats. "You made a very handsome vampire, Blaise, if I do say so myself."

"And you," Blaise raised his glass to Flora Carrow, who, as accorded by her win the previous night, had moved a few seats towards the centre, "an excellent Camilla."

Flora blushed a little and whispered something to Hestia, her twin sister. An excellent act, thought Draco, though she didn't stand a chance against Pansy.

Nonetheless, Pansy had predictably turned up her nose, nostrils a little flared. Her face took on mean, hard expression. It was a tendency that Draco had only recently come to appreciate as dangerous; he was as vindictive as the next person, but Pansy could never take a slight, no matter how small. She would get herself in trouble one day, keeping on like that. "I do wonder though, Blaise," she said, "why you were so late in waking us today."

"Ask Malfoy," muttered Blaise.

"Good of you," said Draco. "I shut off my nine o'clock alarm the way you like for once, and now you complain that I did?"

"That's true," called Graham Montague from where the seventh year boys were seated. "It was Draco who woke us up this morning. What is he, the new Theo? If so, we'd appreciate if you sent him to us a little earlier, Zabini. We know it was a late night, you being Dracula and all, but most of us like to walk leisurely to breakfast."

Caspia, who had seen it as her right to win the pageant last night and was still smarting from Blaise's tie-breaking vote for Flora, added, "Second Sunday in a row, too, Blaise."

Theo blushed a little when Blaise gave him a glare, as if it was all his fault, and for the first time since Snape had laid down the law about arriving to brunch on time fourth year, Draco felt a little thankful. As the unofficial student head of house, he had spent the past two years nervously prodding his friends along to brunch, sending Theo to wake the other rooms while he sent sparks down the stairs to the girls' rooms. Blaise had taken over the duty soon after Pansy began to ignore Draco completely. His failure now reflected well on Draco.

When Draco came out of his reverie, Theo and Blaise were both glaring at him. "What?" he said.

"You could have woken me up earlier this morning," said Theo, when it became clear that Blaise thought it was below him to explain anything to Draco.

"You think I wanted this shit to happen?" sneered Draco. "Look to Blaise. Thought he was your new best friend. Not to mention, the unanimous pick for our House Dracula."

Blaise stretched his arms backwards, yawned and turned to Pansy, which was what the boy must have thought was an obvious snub. Draco snickered. Like he cared. But Theo continued to look unhappily at him. In a low voice, he said, "Were you _trying_ to make me look bad, Draco? If so, you have succeeded. Congratulations."

"We're not friends, remember?" said Draco. He pushed his plate away and went to sit by Barbary again.

Barbary smiled warmly and made room for Draco when he neared. Draco was glad none of the underclassmen saw fit to point out that the hair on the back of his head was sticking up, or that his trousers were actually pyjamas. "Good morning, Draco. I'm glad you made it."

"Me too, Simon," said Draco, trying to work some warmth into his voice.

If he noticed the chilliness to Draco's words, Barbary didn't take it personally. "We've been talking about Hermione Granger's fight last night with Weasley," he explained.

"Yeah, so do you think she really means to suggest that we should co-exist knowingly with Muggles?" said Pritchard's little brother. Draco tried to remember his name. Urbane? Urban. That was it. Urban Pritchard.

"'Course not," said his older brother, Graham. "Everyone says she's the brightest witch of her age. I bet she—"

"She's also a Muggle-born," said another third year, cutting Graham off. "Hanging out with Arthur Weasley's children has probably given her the wrong impressions on what most wizards are like. If she thinks my parents are going to interact with _Muggles_ without—well—spitting on them or torturing them, or something, she's got another think coming."

"But you heard her yesterday," said another girl. Draco tried to figure out why she looked so familiar when it clicked: she was Cassius Warrington's little sister, Cassiopeia. "She thinks that Arthur Weasley and Dumbledore are too supportive of the _status quo_."

"She's a bit of an activist, that one," said Draco. "You lot are too young to remember this, but Graham and Warrington, you might remember her campaign for the freedom of house elves? Said they were overworked and should be _paid _for their services."

The third of the table involved in the conversation erupted into laughter.

With a scrape of his bench, Blaise was up and stalking down towards them. "What, may I ask, is so funny?"

Draco would rather have been _Crucio-d_ than tell Blaise that they had been talking about Granger. That had all blown over, by now, but it was never good to bring up an old joke like that when one was the butt of it. "None of your business, Blaise," he said.

"Oh?" said Blaise. He patted Barbary on the back. "You know, Simon, you're a nice kid, so I'll explain something to you. Draco, here"—he looked directly at Draco with a little half-smile as he said this—"had no use for you until all his old friends got sick of him. He's talking to you now, but don't fool yourself: he doesn't like you. He's just biding his time and at the first opportunity, just as he did walking into brunch today, he'll ditch you for a seat with the big kids. That's how he is, Draco. I've known him since we were two. I should know."

Blaise strutted back to his seat. The underclassmen began to whisper amongst themselves, trying not to attract any more attention from Blaise's crowd. Draco glanced up the table and caught the smug smiles being exchanged by his former friends. Fucking ingrates, all of them.

.

* * *

.

Hermione, who was often first to brunch amongst the older Gryffindors, though for some reason she couldn't fathom, she was almost always beaten to brunch by the entire Slytherin house, was joined quite early today by Seamus and Dean, both of whom rubbed their eyes wearily.

"Late night?" she said.

"Snape's trying to kill us," moaned Seamus. "Wish I hadn't gone back and kept talking with Neville and Ritchie about social change. I could have actually have gotten a start on that Defence essay."

Dean gulped and looked even more miserable. "_You_ wish," he said. "_I_ wish that stupid conversation had never come up." He glanced at Hermione. "No offence, Hermione, but Ginny and I were already on the rocks. After last night…"

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, who really did feel quite sorry. She hadn't meant to cause problems when she sat down to dinner the night before. Aside from Jimmy Peakes and Demelza Robins, who had been snogging in one of the larger window crannies of the common room, Hermione had returned from the library to find the air in the common room extremely tense, many of the normal cliques separated and not talking to each other.

"Not your fault," said Dean, pouring himself some tea. "Not as if you and Ron are talking either."

The two of them both stared rather unhappily at the food provided.

"You know," said Seamus, who, unlike Hermione and Dean, was munching rather obliviously on his cereal, "I kinda miss Dumbledore's Army. Snape's all right compared to some of the Defence teachers we've had, but D.A. was, well, more fun."

Dean perked up. "We've been talking, Seamus and I," he said to Hermione. "We know Harry's busy and all, but you think he could pick it up again? It wouldn't have to be that often. Just once every two weeks or so. I know Neville still checks his coin."

Seamus shot Dean a look before looking pleadingly at Hermione. "Yeah, but no lists this time though, Hermione. Please."

"Why not?" said Dean, surprised. "I thought that curse she put on the list was awesome. You remember Marietta's—" He broke off suddenly. "Yeah, Hermione, no lists. It's not illegal anymore, after all. No expulsion or anything for joining after all."

Hermione understood all at once; Seamus was afraid the list would get out again because his parents were already being threatened by You-Know-Who. "You know," she said, trying to work around to the topic, "Lavender's been really beat up about her parents recently."

"Blimey, I thought you and Lavender weren't on talking terms," said Dean. "How'd you—"

Seamus cut Dean off this time. "Don't think we can talk to you about this. No offence, Hermione, but it's Lavender's business and nobody else's."

"Parvati told me that her parents are having problems," said Hermione.

Both boys looked down at their food awkwardly, so Hermione pressed on, leaving subtlety behind. "Parvati also told me that Lavender's parents have been hearing from Voldemort."

Seamus shivered at the name. "Wish you and Harry wouldn't use his name. It's easy for you lot who didn't grow up in the magical world to just _say_ it but honest—"

"You and Parvati are talking now too?" said Dean. "I thought you two weren't—"

Hermione blushed; it seemed everyone knew everything about her friendships. "The last time we talked was before Easter break."

Dean looked a little disappointed for some reason. "Well, yeah. But, you know, maybe if you started up D.A. again, you could invite them and all. Everyone knows it's as much your show as it is Harry's."

"I deduced that your parents are having the same sort of problems that Lavender's are," said Hermione. "Am I right, Seamus?"

Seamus shook his head first but, at a nudge from Dean, began to nod slowly.

"You should talk to Dumbledore," Hermione urged.

"What is there to say?" said Seamus, a little angrily. "My mum did what she had to do, but I don't know how long we'll be able to afford it—"

"How much?"

Seamus cast a glance down the table and seemed satisfied to find a good distance between them and the underclassmen who had made it to brunch. "Mum's only an administrator over at St. Mungo's and even You-Know-Who knows that doesn't pay well, so it's 'only' a hundred Galleons a month for now. But it's later I'm worried about. When we can't pay anymore, then me and Fergus both will probably have to"—he shivered again—"pledge our loyalty."

"I know this is sensitive," said Hermione, keeping her voice low, "but what do you happen to know what You-Know-Who told your mum about your dad?"

"Yeah," said Seamus miserably. "We're paying a Muggle protection tax. It would only have been seventy-five Galleons a month otherwise."

"A protection tax?" said Dean, a little alarmed.

Hermione's mind was moving in the same direction as Dean's. Would she have to pay to protect her own parents, when the time came? It was easy for wizards to track down residences. Or perhaps her parents would simply be killed, seeing as they had produced a _Mudblood_ witch as their child.

"Have you thought about it? Your parents, I mean," said Hermione, meeting Dean's worried gaze. "I have, but I can't work out any solution." This wasn't quite true; she had the vague beginnings of an idea that involved Obliviation and an ambitious relocation. But Memory Charms were dangerous, so she hadn't had the heart to continue thinking about it.

"Yeah," said Dean. "I've been thinking about it too. My sisters would go crazy if they had to leave their schools though. I keep hoping that somehow Harry will finish him off before anything happens, but…"

But he doubted it could be so. So did Hermione, when she allowed herself to think about it.

"I haven't got any siblings," said Hermione. "I guess I'm lucky in that respect."

"You could send them to one of the other Commonwealth nations," said Seamus, looking a little ashamed at his own moping and obviously trying to help out. Sharp of you, thought Hermione. That's exactly what I was thinking. "Maybe Canada?"

"No, Canada might be even colder than here," said Hermione, deciding it couldn't be too dangerous to have a theoretical discussion about this; no one would guess and even so, it was the Obliviation that would really do the trick. At least she hoped. "The Bahamas!"

"Well, then, if I were you, I'd choose Singapore," said Dean, laughing. "It's warm, they've got the highest per capita income in the world and nobody chews gum there since it's illegal. Perfect for dentists."

This was so quintessential Dean—he was a sponge for random but totally on point Muggle trivia—that laughter bubbled forth from Hermione. That felt good. She took a deep breath before she brought the conversation back to topic. "Well, I'm not familiar with the accreditation of dentists there. It'd have to be somewhere they could work."

Dean sobered quickly. "Yeah. You know, Mum's worried well—that I'll disappear the way my dad—I mean, you know, my 'real' dad did. She's got this theory he might have been a wizard, seeing as none of my sisters are Muggle-borns, and—"

"Do you know his last name?" said Hermione. "I could look it up for you."

Dean shook his head. "No," he said. "The name he gave my mum was 'John Smith.' He must have made it up if he was actually a wizard. But I think it's more likely he was a Muggle."

Seamus patted Dean on the arm. "If he was a wizard, we'll find him before this year is over." He shot Hermione a look, which she understood. It would be safer, better for Dean if he could prove his wizarding heritage. "Come on, mate, we gotta work on that Defence essay."

Dean looked back over his shoulder. "Think about the D.A. thing, Hermione. Between Lockhart, Quirrell and Umbridge, that's three of the six years here I had a completely useless Defence teacher. I want to be prepared."

.

.

* * *

.

A/N: A huge thank you to singtoangels, my beta. A long chapter this time too, since none of these conversations stand on their own. I know, I know, I want more dramione, too! But these are important, I promise. There's important information there! Also I know I'm on a weekly update schedule, but I couldn't resist, seeing as I'm gearing up towards my finals and just want something to cheer me up a little. Thank you for all the reviews, favs and follows. It really brightens me day. Enjoy! -raa

Hottie12345k: I'm so flattered you think so. That bit about Hermione is terribly dear to my heart and it pleases me immensely you find it touching. I know this chapter doesn't have as much emotional content but I hope it was worth the (short) wait! Thank you for bestowing such a thoughtful review upon me!

Fortheloveofglitter: Yes, I like a little politics myself (:

cloudyautumn: Aah yay. I always hope I'm not being too hard on Ron, because I actually do like him as a character, but yes I absolutely agree that the Weasleys' ignorance is appalling, and I was always shocked that Hermione didn't seem to take much offense at it. Thank you so much for the kind words.

Carlie13: hehe thanks!

golojolo: hello golojolo! hehe, thank you as always. Oo, a dark!Hermione fic. I do suppose that anger is one step on the way to the Dark Side (:

El: Don't stop, keep writing! I soak it all in, haha. Yay general fic! That's even better. Sometimes I write poetry and nonfiction but since I've taken this up, I haven't written any original fiction. Original fiction is definitely more satisfying than fanfic so props to you! Actually, I don't work on a schedule at all. This story just won't let me sit still is all. As you can probably tell, I have thought way too hard and long about prejudices in the wizarding world so... haha. I hope you enjoyed Snape in this chapter too.

Guest: Some more Snape for you! (:

DarkFairy8605: Thank you! I always found it interesting too but I came to understand that Rowling's wizarding world is actually pretty dark. Her Ministry is quite regressive and it is backed by a silent majority so the Weasley's being actually not that enlightened about blood prejudice makes sense. It's clever, but I do wish she had addressed that aspect of it more. Which is why fanfiction exists!

SoulessxWarrior: Hello! Missed you (: sorry Snape back to his normal self a little more this chapter. Character development doesn't always go forward, I'm afraid.

sprinklesmash: Thank you so much sprinklesmash. That's so nice of you to say. If I can touch just one person with my words, then I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile.


	11. The Half-Blood Prince

**Chapter 10: The Half-Blood Prince  
**

_In which Draco discovers something troubling and hatches a plot_

.

.

There wasn't much time now. Promising Goyle he'd help him after these two weeks, Draco spent every free hour on Gunhilda; he'd have to start brewing the potion by the end of the week at the latest if he wanted any chance at using it come A.D. (Assassination Day), and that was only if Snape managed to talk the Dark Lord into waiting for the end of May, or, if Draco's prayers were answered, the beginning of June, and all Draco's estimates on brewing time reductions were correct.

He was working with Snape over lunch on Monday when Snape left to teach the next class, telling Draco to lock the door when he left for his next class. An hour or so later, the door creaked open and Granger came in, heading straight for a corner of Snape's rather large office. Draco saw with a start that ingredients had been laid out on the table there.

He said nothing and merely watched as Granger laid out her own potions tools next to the ingredients. She kept referring to a long scroll which she had clearly marked in many places. Finally, she began by pressing her silver knife against the sopophorous bean, which immediately exuded more juice than Draco believed possible. He watched as she went through the steps of what he began to recognise as an altered version of the Draught of Living Death.

When, instead of using powdered root of asphodel, Granger began to use little even pieces of root she had cut up from a flower Draco did not recognise, Draco couldn't resist saying, "Dangerous to mess with the Draught of Living Death, Granger. There's some powdered root of asphodel over here if you need it." He pointed to some vials at the edge of Snape's desk.

She started and dropped the rest of the roots in all at once, glancing up at the same time. "Godric!" she cried when she realised what she had done. She hissed in frustration and ignored Draco completely until she had finished the requisite stirring.

"Two and a half-minutes," she said to the tip of her wand as she finished. She brushed her hands off on her robes. "Sorry, Malfoy," she said. "I didn't realise you were there."

Draco closed his books, waved his wand at the covers under the table, and hoped Granger wouldn't look too closely at them. "Behind in Defence," he said blandly. "Snape asked me to come in and catch up. Didn't mean to scare you."

"Not to worry." She gave him a small smile.

"Where'd you get the variations?"

"Professor Snape," she said. "I well—er, during detention, the subject of the Draught of Living Death came up, and Professor Snape said that he'd be interested to see what changes we could make." She returned to her potion as her wand buzzed and threw in the valerian root. As she tipped the contents into a vial, Draco saw that it was perhaps the palest pink he had ever seen. After a few moments, the pink disappeared and it was completely clear, like water.

"So what did you change?" called Draco across the room. "The stirring?"

"Oh, no. The only change I made was the bigelow's adderstongue. The other things were all his."

"Funny how he's full of tricks like that, isn't it? He showed me the best way to cut roots, back in third year, especially the thin ones. That year, he gave me a copy of his old textbook and it had all these great markings in it."

Granger gave him an odd look. "A copy of his old…?"

"His old third year Potions textbook." Draco laughed, remembering how he had balked at the scrawl in all the margins at first, before he realised how useful they were. "It was a pain to look at, but he'd written notes in it everywhere. And the best part was he had invented a name for himself. He wrote it in his fourth and fifth year books too."

Draco was a little surprised when Granger, who was bringing the vial up to Snape's desk, looked at him intently and inscrutably. Normally, her eyes were open and clear. "What was his—er, his name?" she asked him.

"The Half-Blood Prince."

Granger set the vial down violently, evidently shocked. It tinkled against the desk, but the glass held.

"You know the name?"

"Oh, uh," said Granger lamely. "Well, you see—"

She saved by the entrance of the Half-Blood Prince himself. Both students immediately relaxed their positions and backed away from the table, trying to pretend they hadn't been talking to each other.

Snape did not seem to find it necessary to greet either student. He said to Draco, "I thought you would have left for lunch."

Draco checked the time, realising that he had completely forgotten about lunch. "I forgot."

Snape had already turned his attention to Granger. "If you're here to ask about the Defence essay—"

"Oh no, I'm not here about Defence at all," said Granger, eagerly holding out the vial.

Snape's lips thinned, but he took the vial and held it to the light. "The right colour at least," he said. "Have you tested it?"

A light entered Granger's eyes as she responded, "No, but—"

"Presumptuous of you," said Snape. "Vialing before testing." It was common practice in class to hand in a vial of one's potion, but only because the classroom needed to be clear for the next period. Otherwise, Draco knew Snape preferred for potions to remain in their cauldrons until verified.

"I thought you might not return for—"

"Very well." Snape made one sharp gesture with his right hand, excusing the error. "I will test it later."

"Today I chopped the roots instead of mashing them like we did yesterday," explained Granger eagerly, not in the least put off by Snape's dismissive tone and curtness. "I thought that—"

"Yes, as we discussed," interrupted Snape.

Granger, whose heels had risen off the floor as she explained, the light entering her eyes, faltered a little, but then nodded.

"Thank you, professor," said Granger, giving Draco a long sideways glance.

So Granger was a tad brighter in the social arena than Potty and the Weasel, too. It seemed she could take hints, although she gave them away much too quickly; clearly, she and Snape had discussed no such thing. So why was Snape trying to keep it from him?

As Granger left, Draco made a snap decision and decided to follow her first. He nodded at Snape and took long strides after her out of the room. Getting straight answers out of Granger would be easier than Snape.

But as he caught up to her, Granger made up some excuse and, turning, fled up to the Gryffindor Tower before he could say two words.

Damn Hermione Granger. Just when he thought he had gotten over his little infatuation, she suddenly turned up in his life again, first with that conversation Saturday night in the Great Hall which had set everyone buzzing all day and now with her incredibly interesting student research which Snape was somehow supervising.

How had they begun to talk about the Draught of Living Death during her detentions? And _why_ did she still have detention?

Even more puzzling was her strange reaction to the name 'Half-Blood Prince.' Draco had never known Snape to help a non-Slytherin student in such a manner. Could it be that Granger and Snape were actually working on something important together? Could the man be trusted? These were all questions Draco needed answered.

But strangest of all, Draco realised as he slipped into his seat in Potions, was the way Snape talked to Granger: kind, encouraging, and less sarcastic than usual, which was of course how Snape treated Draco.

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* * *

.

Most students were stupid. Severus had known this a long time, but sometimes it still surprised him—yes, even him—when the brightest of his students made fundamental errors. Case in point: what was Granger thinking, talking about her adjusted Draught of Living Death in front of Draco? Had she completely forgotten why she was taking Legilimency lessons in the first place?

She would need a reminder, Severus decided. He would undertake to remind her tonight as she continued her experiments. He felt pleased at his new solution. He needed Draught of Living Death, the alterations were useful, and this gave her a different sort of brain-intensive activity to work on while he tested her Occlumentic shields at random intervals; grading was too routine a process in many cases.

Draco needed a reminder, too. How it was possible considering the boy's views on blood purity, Severus hardly knew. But he recognised what lay behind the bright curiosity in Draco's eyes: attraction. It had been obvious for weeks, but it was only this past weekend that it had really come together in Severus' mind.

The truth was that the boy was lonely, much like Granger, and judging from what Severus had observed from the dynamics of the Slytherin table and from the girl's memories, she was likely the only person in Draco's year besides Goyle with whom Draco was having normal conversations. Little wonder then, Draco's developing feelings.

But these things need a light touch and so Severus stood passively at the back of the Defence classroom, thinking as the fourth years practiced hex deflection instead of walking between pairs and savouring the fumbling of wands when he approached.

By the end of the lesson, he had reached a conclusion. What Draco felt for Granger was probably light and easily laid aside. He simply needed his loneliness cured. And while there wasn't much Severus could do for Draco on the Slytherin front—Draco would have to claw respect back for himself—there _was_ one thing.

Returning to his own office after the last class but before dinner, Severus caught up to Horace Slughorn. Slughorn's robes were frayed at the edges, and quite a few ugly splotches decorated the front.

"First years," remarked Snape as he came within earshot.

"Ah, yes," said Slughorn nervously, stopping and waiting for Severus. "First years."

"One reason I am happy to teach Defence now," said Severus.

Slughorn shuffled a little and laughed. The man was still uncomfortable with him. "You will forgive me, Severus, if I think that your interest in the subject may have more to do with er—your former interests in the Dark Arts."

Despite his love of creature comforts, thought Severus, Slughorn was not a coward. He did try to do the right thing, most of the time. In this case, he was clearly trying to convey, ever so gently, his disapproval at what he suspected were Severus' true intentions.

Severus inclined his head, wanting to put the man at ease. "I suppose." He gestured at his office when they were passing it. "Would you like to come in? Miss Granger suggested an adjustment to the Draught of Living Death and I am about to test the resulting potion."

Say what you would about Horace Slughorn, one thing was certain: he was an intellectual. The fat Potions Master rubbed his hands together with same boyish glee he wore when talking of former students who had done well for themselves and said, "Oh, really? Surprising! What did she change?"

Severus explained Granger's theory about bigelow's adderstongue as he fetched a few flobberworms from his cabinet. Sure enough, a few drops of Granger's potion were enough to set the lot to sleep. But nothing happened when Severus applied a drop of Wiggenweld to each worm to wake them.

"More!" said Slughorn eagerly. "Quickly!"

Severus applied two more drops to each worm and one by one, they woke and wriggled about on the desk.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Slughorn. "Simply excellent. You said she suggested the change herself? Oh she is a joy to teach! Such a strong addition to the Slug Club! You know—"

This was the moment Severus had been looking for. "How do you choose the students? I recall being the top grade in our Potions class. And yet..."

Slughorn clasped his hands together apologetically. "Well, ah, Severus, you were well, a little sullen as a teenager. If I had known, indeed, I would have—"

"I'm not asking for myself."

"Oh?" Slughorn's face took on a nervous aspect.

"No, I'm merely wondering. On behalf of a few…friends."

Slughorn wiped his hands on the front of his robes, where his belly protruded most. "Your ah, friends," he said, "do not interest me. I do not like Death Eaters, or their children."

"Theo Nott and Draco Malfoy are two of the most talented students in this castle," said Severus. "As is Thomas Avery."

"Talent is not the only thing I look for," said Slughorn nervously. "And none of those boys have proven themselves talented at Potions."

"Which is why you asked the Carrow sisters, of course. For their Potions talent."

Slughorn backed away slowly, saying nothing.

"It's a bet, of course, picking the children. I understand completely," said Snape. "I would have bet against myself, too, if I had taught me. But some of these students—"

"They will follow their fathers into the Dark Lord's service!" said Slughorn, a little offended, even as he sought to put as much space between himself and Severus as possible. "You surely don't mean that I should extend a kind, helping hand to them—"

"Oh, but I do," said Severus, with some force. "Indeed, I do." He stepped forward, gesturing. "Think, Horace, what Albus Dumbledore would say! What if you could be the reason, the influence, that convinces them to make their own way, to imagine their own path?"

Slughorn gave a nervous laugh, reaching the door and pulling it open. "In my experience, that is hardly ever the case."

Severus breathed in, letting his body blur into shadow the way the Dark Lord had shown him and flew right to the door, placing a hand against it as he came into his form again. The door slammed shut with the weight of Severus' body pressed upon it.

"And what," he said, voice silky and cold, projecting in a way that mimicked the Dark Lord's manner of speaking, "I wonder, will you do Horace, should the Dark Lord win?"

Slughorn froze. Then he drew his wand, but Severus held his own wand out between thumb and forefinger, horizontally: _I'm not going to curse you. Don't cast._ After a moment, blinking, Slughorn slowly tucked his wand back into his robes. Severus knew that, beneath his robes, Slughorn still held the wand firmly within his fist.

Severus opened the door and gestured for Slughorn to leave, but just as the man was passing him, Severus grasped an arm and held it firmly. Slughorn's pale green eyes, shaded first with fright and then brightening with indignant anger snapped up to meet Severus' gaze. "What is the meaning of—"

"I would think on it, if I were you, Horace," said Severus in his normal voice, low and controlled. He was not in the least concerned with increasing his volume to talk over Slughorn. Slughorn would fall silent to listen to a threat. "That is the advantage of my position. When the time comes, I could speak for you. I would dearly love to. But only if I think the case could be made."

With that, he let go of Slughorn's arm and, without bothering to respond, Slughorn hastened away.

Let Slughorn think what he would; after next month, it hardly mattered. If Severus had helped Draco even the slightest bit, it was worth it because something had to be done by somebody for the boy, and Severus was beginning to think that he would have to be that somebody. There was no one else who would do it.

.

* * *

_._

Exactly how many of these did Snape need? Hermione finished off her third batch of Draught of Living Death and tested it on the flobberworms laid out on the table in front of her.

At this moment, she fended off another attack—but only barely. Snape managed to get into the memory which had been upmost in her thoughts recently, her conversation with Dean and Seamus, before she managed to alter the scene so that they ended up discussing something much more benign than You-Know-Who.

Snape withdrew from the memory but said nothing. He already knew that she had succeeded in subtly altering it, as he had, in preparation, asked to view those memories which would be upfront in her mind. Hermione had given him two.

The other memory she had given him was Malfoy's casual mentioning of the Half-Blood Prince today when she ran into him in his office. After she got over her embarrassment of being caught discussing Snape with Malfoy, Hermione had realised that she wanted to know, badly, if Snape was actually the Half-Blood Prince.

But Snape had viewed the memory without affirming or denying the charge. Instead, he told her that from now on, she should only work on brewing extra potions for him during their "detentions." Then he reminded her that Malfoy was a Death Eater.

Which Hermione couldn't believe that she had allowed herself to forget. It wasn't that she had actually forgotten. No, she had known it factually. She had just allowed herself, in the course of so many dreams and random reflections on Draco Malfoy, to forget what his being a Death Eater meant about his person and how he saw the world.

After a while, she could no longer suppress the logical question which followed the reminder. "Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Could I ask—well—I was just wondering why Draco Malfoy is always in your office. I thought, perhaps, it had something to do with his, well, his plans."

A long silence. Snape marked off a scroll and set it aside.

"Professor?"

"I heard you the first time."

"Well—"

"It's better you don't know."

"But I—"

"Enough, Granger. You are here to learn, not to ask unnecessary questions."

Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She resigned herself to work, and assured herself there would be other chances. Working with Snape had given her a little more patience.

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* * *

.

"You know, Sunday at brunch," said Hermione, as she, Harry and Ron tackled a Snargaluff the next morning, "Dean and Seamus were talking about starting D.A. again."

"I thought we discussed this over the summer," said Harry. "I haven't got time—"

"But you have," said Hermione. "You wouldn't need to prepare as much as last year; we could just get together and do more practice, maybe even practice what Snape is teaching."

"I'm not teaching anything Snape thinks is important," said Harry flatly. "He's planning something with Malfoy. I know he is! Every day Malfoy goes to his office and—"

"But you want to do it?" interrupted Hermione before she had to hash this out with Harry again. Malfoy was the precise reason why she thought D.A. should be started again, though she would never tell Harry, not until he worked on his own Occlumency.

Hermione couldn't believe that she had been satisfied with Dumbledore's assurance that the Malfoy situation would be taken care of. Despite weeks of listening to Harry's suspicions, the very real, very deadly possibility that an attack on Hogwarts was still in the making only made itself clear to her after her detention last night. She had assumed that Dumbledore intended to repel such an attack. Now, given Snape's close working with Malfoy, she suspected otherwise. In light of that, she could not believe that she had, for the past month, treated Malfoy almost like a friendly acquaintance. If anything, her observations of him ought to have taught her that Malfoy was not to be underestimated.

"It might be fun if we did it again," said Ron quietly.

Hermione ignored him. This morning she had tried to seek out other partners to no avail; everyone wanted to work with their previous partners when they learned that Professor Sprout had decided that they should review Snargaluffs, which they had covered briefly before Christmas break.

"Apparition will wrap up soon," said Hermione. "We could do Saturday mornings."

Ron looked a little hurt at being ignored. "But of course she would say that," he said under his breath. "Just because she has nothing better to do on Friday nights than study."

"Of course, not everyone understands that school is for learning," said Hermione.

Ron turned to her angrily. As he opened his mouth, he lost hold on two of the Snargaluff's tentacle-like branches. They smacked his face, leaving an angry red gash across his cheek. "Now look what you've done!" he said.

"Me?" said Hermione. "I didn't—"

"Hermione, Ron, please," pleaded Harry. "Can we just drop it?"

Hermione grabbed some of the branches and sent a rope out the tip of her wand to restrain them. Feeling a little better, she said, "I still want to know what you think about D.A."

Harry looked hesitant. "I don't know, Hermione. You know that I need to follow—"

"Not this again," moaned Ron. "I'm telling you, he's probably just—"

"Hermione believes me, so I don't see why you don't," said Harry.

Hermione sighed as, having tied all the black vines back, she stuck her hand into the Snargaluff and retrieved the pod. Harry had discovered that Hermione would no longer actively cast doubt on his suspicions when he related them; she did not have the heart; he was right after all. But Hermione's behaviour meant that Harry talked more and more often about his suspicions, emboldened by her passive acceptance.

"She's only pretending," said Ron sullenly as he began to pound at the bowl, which contained two pods, with his trowel. "So that you'll—"

"No, Ron, you don't understand! Malfoy barely leaves Snape's office now! Every night when I go to sleep, I check the map and there he is, in Snape's office! The only time he's not there is when Hermione's serving detention!"

The worst thing about all the Malfoy talk, thought Hermione as she moved onto the next Snargaluff, was that while Harry had no idea what Malfoy could be planning, she knew very well. He was trying to attack the school.

Which made his behaviour towards her even stranger, she had realised last night. Was it all a trick?

When Hermione had systematically battled the Snargaluff into submission, she shook her head to clear it of the thoughts and retrieved the pod. When she dropped it in the bowl Ron was still mashing at, she realised Harry and Ron were still bickering.

"—thought you were trying to be friends with her again—isn't that why you were reading that book all weekend? So why are you—"

"—I do, Harry! But then she uses that bossy—"

"I'll gather everyone up then," said Hermione, cutting their argument short; she didn't want Harry to lose Ron's friendship, even temporarily, over Malfoy. Or her.

Both boys stopped mid-sentence. Ron's ears reddened, and he mumbled something while he split the pods to one per bowl.

Fine, Hermione thought. They could keep their secrets if they liked.

After a moment, all three Gryffindors began to pound away, in silence.

.

* * *

.

Draco's hands were still smarting from the Snargaluffs they had battled in Herbology this morning when Charms let out. He walked as quickly as he could to the third-floor bathroom.

But he was not alone. As he entered the room, he found Myrtle comforting a different crying boy: Kevin Entwhistle, his Muggle-born, lovelorn Astronomy partner.

Draco coughed loudly so that Entwhistle would notice his presence and thrust his hands under the warm water, hoping that would ease the pain a little.

Myrtle looked accusatorially at Draco. "I haven't seen you in months. I thought you might be dead." A glint entered her eyes. "You know, if you died, then we could keep each other company as ghosts."

Draco kept his eyes focused on his hands. "Sorry to disappoint," he said.

Entwhistle had fixed his face up a little so it at least looked like he hadn't been crying. Draco recognised the burning smell: a glamour charm, for red eyes.

"Hey Malfoy," said Entwhistle, voice a little high. "Looks like you got some nasty cuts from the Snargaluffs this morning."

"Yeah…" As glad as Draco had been that Goyle (and Crabbe, but that didn't matter anymore) had passed at least Herbology, it wasn't fun being Goyle's partner sometimes. Draco frowned and began to transfigure some of the water into a thicker substance so the air wouldn't sting at the open cuts; Snargaluff wounds were magically resistant to mere Healing Charms.

Entwhistle gestured at his own robes, which had a few cuts in them. "They got me too."

"Those cuts look _terrible_," said Myrtle. "I used to hate Herbology and I remember—"

"At least they didn't get your hands," said Draco, talking over Myrtle without meaning to. His mind was already working for how he could use this chance encounter. He went for self-deprecation, much as he hated the tactic. He gave Entwhistle a crooked grin. "Nasty things. Last time they got me even worse."

Entwhistle grinned back.

"Oh, _friends_ are you?" said Myrtle, a little angrily when she saw that Entwhistle's attention had transferred to Draco.

"No, it's not like that, Myrtle—" Entwhistle said hurriedly.

"You can tell your problems to _him_. See if I care." Myrtle flitted through one of the walls.

Draco shivered. When they engaged in particularly ghostly behaviour, ghosts reminded him that there was death. Death did not frighten Draco as much as the idea that the soul could exist after death. He shook the thought from his head before turning to Entwhistle and saying, "Ever walked through a ghost?"

"Actually, no," said Entwhistle. "The Grey Lady's not one you would walk through. And she doesn't seem to have many er, ghost friends, so not that many ghosts come to our part of the castle."

Snickering, Draco pointed to the wall Myrtle had disappeared through. "Imagine if she and the Grey Lady were friends."

Entwhistle looked a little cheered. He wiped his hands off on his pants. "Well, it's been good chatting—"

Not so fast, Entwhistle, thought Draco, I need something from you. Caught short for time, he went for the first thing that he could think of. "Gonna show Brocklehurst the results of your epic battle against the evil Snargaluffs?" Draco winced when he was finished. It sounded even worse when he said it out loud.

Entwhistle gave Draco a reproachful look. "It's not like that, mate. She barely talks to me."

"It's not like you've been trying to talk to her," said Draco, parting and re-parting his hair in the mirror to appear as if he actually had something to do in the bathroom besides wash his hands.

Entwhistle had stiffened up and was now looking at Draco suspiciously. What was the matter? Hadn't they talked about Brocklehurst on and off during Astronomy these past few weeks?

"Just saying," said Draco, trying to keep his voice casual, as if this was just idle talk. "I know most of the time in class, I just listen and nod approvingly, but don't you want her back? Sometimes you've got to man up."

"It's not like you've manned up to Pansy or Blaise or any of your other former Slytherin buddies."

Draco knew the hurt was showing and he made a conscious effort not to wipe it from his face. A light touch, he reminded himself. Entwhistle might be a Ravenclaw, but he wasn't a third year like Barbary. "Yeah, easier said than done, I suppose." He shrugged and nodded again at Myrtle's wall. "Was she helpful? In my experience, she hates hearing about other girls."

The door swung open. Blaise came in, accompanied by an amused looking Avery. "So then she told me that the first time she and Draco—"

"The first time Pansy and I what?" said Draco.

Blaise gave Draco the same half-smile that he had worn at brunch on Sunday while talking to Barbary. "Draco Malfoy and Kevin Entwhistle," he announced with slow precision and Draco knew that the deliberate manner was for Avery alone; Entwhistle was nothing to Blaise. "You know, Avery, if you have interest in Muggle-borns, N.E.W.T. Astronomy's a great place to pick 'em up. Draco here is on his second in two months. First Granger, now Entwhistle."

"Funny," said Draco. "Look at me laugh."

"Not looking," said Blaise, examining his own face in the mirror. "Not interested."

"Well," said Entwhistle, with false cheer, obviously trying to diffuse the tension. "At least I can explain to the other Ravenclaws why Slytherins are such wankers to us." He gave a braying laugh, and his shoulders had hunched forward. "Clearly, you're not any nicer to each other."

Draco wished he could had silenced Entwhistle before he said that. It was hardly a declaration of friendship, but he knew Blaise would take it as such. "The first time Pansy and I what?" he said to draw attention away from Entwhistle.

"The first time the two of you made sweet love," said Blaise, "you finished in two seconds."

Avery burst into a loud laughter.

"Yeah," said Draco. "And now I recall what Morag said about your abilities, Avery. Something about how you hadn't even—"

"Do you normally talk about other boys while shagging your—_conquests_?" interrupted Blaise.

"Do you?"

Blaise sneered. "I don't ever talk about you, if I can help it. Pansy says what she likes though and"—he laughed, with his shoulders scrunched slightly—"a man can't help it if a girl feels obliged to make negative comparisons with her previous—"

"Thought you didn't kiss and tell."

"I don't," said Blaise, "except in special cases."

"True," said Draco. "But still I wonder how happy Pansy will be when she finds out you've been discussing her—sexual prowess with—your mates in the lavatory, hmm? I'm sure Entwhistle would love to hear all about that amazing arch thing she does and how it feels like—"

"You're the one talking," said Blaise. Draco could also see from the recognition on Avery's face that he had guessed right. That was what they had really been talking about. A dull redness spread across the lighter skin on Blaise's neck, barely visible through the tone of his skin but reminiscent of Blaise's sunburns—also just barely visible—over the summer.

"True again," said Draco. "Lucky for me Pansy agrees that exes are fair game for gossip. Are you also her ex?" He pushed the lavatory door open and hoped Entwhistle was smart enough to follow.

He was. Entwhistle whistled when they left the room. "What happened between you three?" he asked.

"Life."

Entwhistle had the grace to look down.

In a way, Draco realised, Blaise had done him a favour. This was exactly what he needed to convince Entwhistle to take up Mandy as his partner again, which served Draco's own purposes nicely. "Yeah, you should probably see if you can find a new partner. Unless you'd like to get another serving of that."

"Rowena's brains," swore Entwhistle softly, disbelief tinging his tone. "You really do think I should talk to Mandy."

"Yes, I do," said Draco. "I'll even do it for you, if you can't find the guts to do it yourself. As I said before, at least she's not Pansy."

Entwhistle's shoulders had hunched up again from tension. He gave Draco a robotic sort of nod before shuffling in the direction of the library. "I'll try, but no promises."

Watching Entwhistle hurry away, Draco realised that Entwhistle would chicken out. That was problematic for his plan.

Then, Draco realised what he _could_ do.

Sometimes, Draco impressed even himself.

.

* * *

.

Hermione waited at the portrait door. Five minutes, Harry had said. Now it was fifteen.

Finally, Harry's worn shoes made an appearance on the stairs. His face lit up in that priceless smile when he had descended far enough down to see her. He came towards Hermione, saying, "Thanks for waiting, Hermione. Ron's just—"

"Ron?"

"Er—yeah," said Harry lamely. "He's just getting his books."

So that was what Harry had been doing up in his dormitory. Convincing Ron to join them in the library.

"But I don't want to—" Hermione cut off when Ron ran down the steps and joined them. He beamed when he saw that Hermione was waiting with Harry. Somehow, this made Hermione angrier than ever. When did a smile ever solve anything?

"Sorry, Hermione," said Ron as he took loping strides across the room towards them, "I just had to fetch my Potions book—"

"Potions isn't due until next week," said Hermione impatiently. "Have you started Transfiguration yet?"

"Er—oh yeah," said Ron, turning around to spring up the dormitory stairs again. "Wait, let me just—"

"This is ridiculous!" said Hermione as Ron disappeared up the stairs. She spun around to face Harry. "We've wasted thirty minutes just—"

"Please, Hermione," said Harry. "You're my two best friends. Can't you just sit at the same table?"

When he put it that way, in that tone, there wasn't anything she could refuse him. What Harry was saying was not just "you're my two best friends." He was making a helpless declaration that they were his family, his only family. And Hermione knew he needed them, both of them.

So she waited in silence for Ron to reappear and let Harry and Ron talk as they pleased as they made their way to the library.

.

* * *

.

Draco was lucky. Granger was seated in the main section of the library, her books spread over half the table.

He was also unlucky. Potter and Weasley were sitting opposite her. Couldn't the Weasel have at least lived up to his Weasley reputation and taken Muggle Studies, thought Draco as he stalked by their table. Then Potter might have taken Muggle Studies as well and Granger'd be alone now.

Well, there was more than one way to get rid of unwanted company.

Something stopped Draco from immediately approaching their table. It was bad enough to be near Potter and to have to grin and bear all Potter's idiotic taunts and suggestions, but Weasley was worse. Potter was Dumbledore's pet and didn't possess any real talent, but at least he wasn't loud and crass like Weasley. The things that boy said, honestly. Sometimes Draco even felt a little sorry for Granger, stuck by Weasley's side as she often was.

Pity, that. Except of course, her blood still made her lower than Weasley could ever be.

And of course of the three of them, it was still Granger that he needed to talk to.

Draco gritted his teeth for a few seconds, preparing himself. Then he sauntered over to the table and took the empty seat by Granger. He leaned back in it so that the chair balanced perfectly on its hind legs.

Potter and Weasley scraped their chairs back in unison, and would have looked quite menacing if either of them had managed to bulk up and look well—not like string-beans. Potter arranged his robe sleeves to show Draco that he was armed and ready beneath his robes. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he demanded, loudly.

In a way, he was lucky that Sectumsempra business had happened. Potter might already have attacked him if it weren't for that. Draco traced the intricate grey lines on the nearest stained glass window with his eyes. It was one of the patterned ones celebrating the magical properties of the number seven. _One, two, three, fou_r—

"A little hard of hearing of late, aren't you," said Potter. "I said, _what do you want_, Malfoy?"

"Yeah, Malfoy, did you hear what he said?" parroted Weasley.

Draco gave him a disdainful smile. "This is a nice table."

"Yeah? Well, we got here first. So scram, Malfoy," said Weasley.

Granger, who had ignored them until now, hissed in annoyance. "Will the three of you just stop it! I'm trying to do work here."

"Hermione, he's—" Potter quailed a little when Granger glared at him.

"Don't even," she said. "McGonagall said you were lucky not to be expelled last time, remember?"

"Fine. Come on then, let's go," said Weasley darkly, packing his things up.

"I'm not moving," said Granger. "We only _just_ got here because Ron forgot his stupid textbook and I'm not—"

"Are you out of your mind?" Potter said urgently to Granger, in what he must have thought was a whisper. "Malfoy's dangerous. He's—"

"You can leave with Ron if you like," said Granger. "Go on, Harry. I'm not stopping you."

Potter looked from Granger to Draco. "Hermione, please—"

"Just go," said Granger, her voice growing shrill. "I'm trying to study!"

Potter sighed. He gestured to Weasley, and they both sat down unwillingly.

Damn.

Potter drummed his fingers against the table and coughed loudly while staring at Draco.

"Say," said Weasley, suddenly struck with a thought and sitting up in his chair, "do you smell…ferret in here, Harry?"

"Yeah," Potter said enthusiastically, "I reckon it's gotten stronger ever since Malfoy—"

"If you're going to stay, stay quiet." Granger glared at Potter as she said this—it seemed Weasley wasn't good enough for a glare, even.

Salazar, Granger had a temper. Potter and Weasley exchanged glances before unpacking their things and pretending to be busy, all the while still darting angry, obvious glances towards Draco.

Draco continued to balance for a while, revising his plan. It seemed Potter and Weasley needed a little encouragement to change tables. He was sure he could get them to leave even while Granger stayed. He whistled the beginning to the Weird Sisters song which had come out two months before and was still insanely popular, _She's my witch-friend._

"Will you please stop that," snapped Granger.

Draco shrugged, and looked across the table. Potter and Weasley were still watching. Well, no luck. He gave it up; he needed to know what Granger was doing with Snape and he needed to know as soon as possible. It wasn't a loss if Potty and the Weasel saw him making nice with Granger. It wasn't like those two talked to any of the Slytherins anyway.

Draco leaned forward so the front legs of his chair met the ground with a loud thump. "Granger, we need to talk about Astronomy."

Granger threw her quill down and gave an exasperated sigh. "The fifth person today! I haven't figured out how to complete the exploding star model, so don't bother asking."

Must be Weasley's fault, her current attitude. Granger was really much nicer when that bumbling idiot wasn't around. "You know, Granger, I'm not the one who forced you to sit with Weasley today, so don't take it out on me. Now, I know Potter's—"

"I'm not," she said. "I'm trying to do work and you're bothering me."

"—your best friend so that begs the question, Granger. Why does he insist on you three sitting together if you and Weasley aren't on talking terms?"

Potter sputtered but Granger cut him off with, "Ron and I are, actually. On talking terms, that is."

"Oh, really?"

Granger glared at Weasley, who coughed and said, "Yeah, we are."

"Right. Well, then," Draco thought that was as good as any opening he was going to get. "I'm here on—"

"Shut it, Malfoy," said Weasley.

"Ron, I thought I said to be quiet," said Granger.

"—behalf of Kevin."

A silence followed this declaration. Draco resisted the temptation to turn his head and see Potter's reaction. Instead, he watched as Granger's expression changed from fierce to puzzled. "Kevin?" she said.

"Kevin Entwhistle," said Draco, almost stumbling over Entwhistle's first name again. It was strange to say it out loud, but he needed to, if he wanted to sell this.

"Oh," said Granger, nodding. "Well, he already asked me about the models and I already told him that I don't—"

"I'm not here by his request," said Draco impatiently. "I'm here _on his behalf_. On the issue of Brocklehurst."

Understanding dawned on Granger's face, but she shook her head. "I don't know what Entwhistle told you," she said, "but from what Mandy's told me, I don't think it'd be a good idea for us to merely force them to partner up again."

"I do," said Draco. "You know Sinistra's going to pair us up by teams to work on the models since nobody's made any progress alone, right? Probably tonight. Think of all the productive time they'll be spending together, working on a real project. And that's why they started liking each other in the first place, yeah? Shared intellectual interest and all. Ravenclaws."

Another silence went around the table. Granger was clearly processing what Draco had said.

"What are you, the Ravenclaw matchmaker?" said Weasley, suddenly, with a forced laugh. "That didn't work out so well for Emma."

"Emma?"

"Yeah, _Emma Woodhouse_," said Weasley.

A loud cough, sounding suspiciously like laughter erupted from Potter. Several students at the other tables pointed their lights at their table and flickered them, a sign for, _If you don't mind, I'm trying to study here._

Fuck that, thought Draco. "Who the fuck is Emma Woodhouse?" said Draco loudly.

"Quiet! Both of you!" Granger threw an apologetic look over her shoulder at the table occupied by the stern-looking seventh year Ravenclaw prefect before turning to look furiously at first Weasley then Draco.

"Well, who is she?"

"A Muggle book character you would never have heard of," said Weasley.

Oh.

After a moment, Draco recovered. "Is she Granger's favourite book character or something?"

"Of course not!" said Granger, but the furious look had melted from her face. She stared at Weasley with wide eyes.

"She isn't?" said Weasley, his ears beginning to redden.

Granger blinked a few times and then smiled, interrupting Weasley to say, "No, Emma , the character, is just a classic flawed protagonist but _Emma_, the book, is one of my _favourites_. It's precisely Emma's flaws that make Jane Austen such a great—"

"Hermione, if you don't mind," said Potter, impatiently, "if you're going to talk to Malfoy, I'd rather you do it fast. I can't concentrate when he's here." The laughter had faded from his face and he was once again staring at Draco intently with an expression Draco could not decipher. Was it suspicion? Or curiosity? It was hard to read Potter sometimes because of his glasses; the lenses dulled any expression that might be seen from the eyes.

Granger frowned again. "But I thought Charms isn't due for—"

"No, I'm working on Defence. Remember? Snape's taking a full mark off the final grade for every hour I'm late."

"But he gave you an extension," said Granger, frowning.

"You mean, he forced me to take one since he crossed out the entire middle section of my essay!"

Draco suppressed the rising snicker in his throat. Any other time, he thought, that would have been priceless. But sometimes fun had to wait.

"Okay," said Granger. She took a deep breath, shaking her head a little. Some of her curls loosened from her makeshift bun and she had to brush them behind her ears. "Look, Malfoy, I know he's your Astronomy partner now but Entwhistle cheated on Mandy. I don't think he deserves another chance."

"Has she given him a chance to explain himself?" asked Draco.

"Well, no, but—"

"Then how does she know what she thinks is true?"

"Because she saw him kissing—"

"Let me tell you something, Granger," said Draco, forgetting for a moment Granger's problems in love. "When a boy likes a girl, he doesn't just randomly kiss other girls just because they happen to be nearby and they haven't got anyone to kiss."

Granger darted a look at Weasley and Draco felt immensely stupid. She recomposed herself. "Mandy knows what she saw."

"I would argue that she didn't," said Draco, "Just give him a—"

"His word against hers," said Granger hotly. "Why do you choose to believe him? Just because he's your friend now and—"

Draco shook his head. "The Muggle Scientific Method," he said, speaking out of his ass. It was something Entwhistle had raved on and on about one lesson.

Weasley gave an immense snort. "Like you would know anything about that."

Draco had had it up to here with Weasley's constant interruptions. It was hard enough trying to sweet talk Granger into doing what he needed. "Listen, Weasel," he snarled. "You—"

"Seeing as you need something from her, I'd talk to Hermione's friends nicely if I were you," said Potter. His wand was out on the table, his fingers resting casually upon it, the intention clear.

"And I'd let Granger talk for herself if I were you," spat Draco. "You think you're so—"

He was suddenly silenced. It was Granger. She pointed her wand at Weasley and Potter, both of whose mouths were flapping furiously, and then pointed it at an empty table. "Go," she said. "I will join you in five minutes."

Potter looked mutinous and Weasley ready to punch the table, but Granger held eye contact with Potter until he swept up his books. Weasley followed, slamming his own books down when he got to the new table. Draco couldn't help but smirk at them. He gave them a small wave.

"Stop that," hissed Granger.

Draco made a motion towards his mouth that he hoped she would interpret as, _I'll stop goading them if you undo this._

"Scientific method," said Granger flatly as she undid the Silencing Charm.

"Yeah," said Draco, trying to remember Entwhistle's words. "Isn't that a Muggle thing? Doubt what you know. Doubt what you see. Doubt everything."

Granger shook her head, her expression still sour. "That's not it at all. It's—"

"Wait." Draco help up his hand, throwing in a smile for good measure. He hoped she would be more relaxed now that her two friends were farther away. "Let me try again. Doubt what you can't know?"

"Better," said Granger, looking a tad cheered. "The scientific method is all about building upon knowledge. It's the way to differentiate between what we can know and what we don't know yet. You make a hypothesis, you develop a controlled way to test that hypothesis, and have to do experiments, controlled—"

"Experiments," said Draco, grasping onto the word that he did know. "So let Mandy do an experiment."

She was still shaking her head. "We'll be doing more damage than good. We can't toy with people's feelings like that."

"Look, Granger," said Draco, "I don't know what Mandy said so I can't make a judgement on how she feels but Kevin was sincere when he talked to me."

She cocked her head to one side and considered him. A light entered them and she sat up straighter. "You're trying to get me to partner with you for the project," she said.

Draco revised his theory. It was Snape who was rubbing off on Granger, not Granger who was rubbing off on Snape.

"Yes, that is a definite benefit," he admitted. It was, but not in the way she was thinking. It, and Entwhistle's happiness in love, were both incidental to his real purpose: satisfying his curiosity. It wasn't just curiosity, either. There was a real need. Draco hated to suspect Snape again, but in matters of life and death—literally—caution was the only way to proceed. He needed to know. "But I still vouch for Kevin. Tell Brocklehurst I can vouch for him."

"Do you think we're friends?" said Granger suddenly.

"What?"

"Friends," said Granger. "You just came to me asking me for a favour. People don't ask acquaintances for favours, they ask friends."

"I—Well—Look, Granger—"

"Good," said Granger. She nodded as if he had passed some sort of test. "I'll do it."

Draco filed away her strange question and even stranger reaction for examination. He rose and jerked his chin up once in acknowledgement, saying, "See you in class tonight."

He had already turned from the table when Granger spoke again: "But."

Draco sat back down. Of course there was a 'but'.

Granger gave him a light smile. "But if she and Entwhistle still don't make up, I want you to set her up with Theo Nott."

_What?_

"It can't be her blood, can it?" said Granger, reading Draco's shock as disgust. "She's a half-blood and Brocklehursts are as old as any of the other families. Besides, you lot talk to Millicent and Tracey Davis and they're both half-bloods."

"It's not her blood," said Draco. "It's just—"

"Mandy's pretty," continued Granger. "Too pretty for your friend Nott, but it seems the Ravenclaws have a massive House crush on him."

Something else to process later. Draco frowned, trying to focus on the conversation. "Theo doesn't date."

"Those are my terms," said Granger, her face impassive and her voice adopting the slow, toneless drawl Snape sometimes used. "Take them or leave them."

Snape really had rubbed off on Granger. "I'll take them," said Draco after a long moment.

A true smile broke out on Granger's face now.

Pretty good, thought Draco, but you broke your act too soon. Now it was his turn. He waited a long time, until the smile began to fade from her face, before he said, "But."

She did that thing he had dreamed about—the pressing together of her lips on the right side, before it curved up into a wry smile, as if she was enjoying doing business with him. "Yes?"

"She better come to Astronomy with an open mind."

"Okay," she agreed.

Draco gave her a tight nod in parting when he caught Potter observing them both intently and then strode away to the Great Hall for lunch.

All in all, he concluded as he sat down at the empty Slytherin table, not a bad morning. And after the others filed in, he found, contemplating Theo's profile and wondering if what Granger had said about Theo and his popularity in Ravenclaw House was true, that he didn't even mind very much when Barbary and his friends came in, took a look at where Draco was sitting, and chose to sit at the other half of their table, on the other side of the "centre" where Blaise was holding court.

.

* * *

.

"Emma Woodhouse?" said Hermione to Ron as she slipped down beside them at the new library table, as much for her own curiosity as to make sure she didn't have to talk about Malfoy anymore.

Ron looked gratified that she had chosen to talk to him. "Yeah, I thought you said you'd read—"

"Of course I've read it," snapped Hermione. She took in a deep breath, trying to breathe in the majesty of the library. Talking to Malfoy had been intriguing, as it often was, but she always felt oddly on edge after he left. "Sorry. But yes, I have. I just didn't realise that you—"

"Well, there's lots of things about me you haven't realised," said Ron.

A defence. No, an apology. That's what it was. He was trying to show her that he did care about Muggles and what Muggles liked. And especially, what aspects of Muggle culture she liked. "When, I wonder, did you take it upon yourself to read the book?" said Hermione before she could stop herself. She could have kicked herself after that. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just accept his apology?

"I—oh, all right. I read it this weekend," said Ron. "Look, Hermione, I just—"

"And you thought you would just drop into conversation casually as if you—"

"No," said Ron, "that's not it at all! I just want us to be friends again, you know, like we always—"

"Well, I don't," said Hermione, emboldened somehow by the bargaining she had done with Malfoy. It was like discovering a new part of herself, or freeing it. A sharper, wittier, more carefree Hermione was emerging and she couldn't bring herself to care enough to stop it.

She took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't want to be friends like we've always been. Listen up, Harry, because this applies to you, too!"

Harry's head emerged from where he had hidden behind his scrolls the moment Ron and Hermione started sniping at each other.

When Hermione was sure that he was paying attention, she said, "I don't want to be appeased to my face and laughed at behind my back. I don't want to just pretend everything's fine because frankly, it's not fine. I don't know what you remember our friendship as being like, but as long as we've been friends, that _is_ what it's been like. And if it has to be that way, then I don't want any of that."

She slammed her book shut and made for the exit, realising as she went that she was just as angry at Harry as she was at Ron. No, it _wasn't_ fine for Harry to just stand in the middle and pretend that they were both equally wrong! It wasn't fine for him to plead for her to get along with Ron just because he needed them.

Maybe she was being a simpleton, but Hermione believed there was a place for truth-telling in any real friendship. Harry owed it to her, and in fact, owed it to Ron, to tell Ron the truth about what was right.

And damn it, she was right!

Yes, she had lost her temper on Saturday, but the logic was there for anyone to follow! The logic was on Hermione's side whether the disagreement was over Ron's continued relationship with Lavender or Muggles and wizards.

So Harry was failing, in a way. Failing at their friendship. Harry had adamantly refused to talk about wizarding politics when Hermione approached him after Saturday night. And though she had said at the time that she understood, she didn't. She really didn't.

How refreshing it was to admit it to herself.

.

* * *

.

Harry was crafty in his own ways. Craftier than Ron in any case, Hermione thought bitterly though not without wryness, when at dinner that night, Ginny slipped into the seat beside Hermione and said, with that pleasing bluntness of hers, "Talk to me, Hermione. Tell me what's wrong."

"Harry sent you."

"Yeah," said Ginny, completely unembarrassed. "Yeah he did. Caught me just as I was leaving the Common Room and begged me to report back to him what I could find out when I get to Quidditch practice tonight."

"Why didn't Harry come himself?"

"Oo, prickly," said Ginny, grinning. She piled as much food onto her plate as Ron normally did. Seeing the look on Hermione's face, she said, "Last time I didn't load up before Quidditch, I had to sneak down to the Kitchens twice that night, I was so hungry."

Despite herself, Hermione began to relax.

"Anyways, you know how Harry is," said Ginny. "He's sweet and intuitive and all that, but he's not very good at these things."

"Then perhaps he should practice," said Hermione acidly.

"Yeah," said Ginny. "But wouldn't you rather he practice on someone who's not you?"

A good point. "All right," allowed Hermione. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, if I'm thinking correctly," said Ginny, "there's Ron and Lavender and then there's these detentions with Snape. Well, those were my suggestions. Harry said—insisted, actually—that there was something about Malfoy too."

Hermione nodded.

"Okay, Snape first, because that's easier," directed Ginny.

"It is easier, because there's nothing to tell," said Hermione. "He's—well, Ginny I don't what he's like to you in class but he's always been horrible to Harry and Neville, and Ron and me by proxy. But now that I've gotten to know him, he's really all right. Sure he's a little—oh this is a bad word for it, but—grumpy, but most of the time he just"—she caught herself before she left slip what they were actually doing—"makes me mark the underclassmen papers."

Ginny paused in the middle of spooning another large helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate. "Has he assigned you fifth years before?"

Hermione shook her head. "You guys have O.W.L.S. soon; I wanted to take a look when you were learning the defensive techniques since we didn't do any of that under Umbridge, but Snape wouldn't let me. He said he had to keep track of your progress."

Ginny reached for the pumpkin juice and refilled Hermione's cup and then her own. "He lets you choose which papers to mark?"

"Yeah, sometimes," said Hermione.

"Wow. Well, I suppose that is all right, though your detentions still seem a little excessive. What does he think you did? Force Harry to use Sectumsempra?"

It was so good to talk to Ginny. Hermione couldn't help but laugh as she said, "It's not that bad. I quite enjoy it sometimes. The fourth years have the most interesting course material, but the others can be interesting too. I've actually learned a lot seeing the most common errors and—"

"No," said Ginny. "Sorry, Hermione. Not right now. I have practice in thirty minutes and there's still two things to cover. Tell me tonight after practice?"

"I've got Astronomy tonight."

Ginny let out a huff of frustration. "Right. Astronomy. Well, since we're on that topic. Malfoy. Go."

Harry must have told her about the note. Hermione asked if he had.

"Yeah," said Ginny. "That was the same week I caught him glaring at you over brunch right? The week you had to share a telescope with him?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well," mused Ginny, "he certainly didn't look very happy with you, so I can see why Harry's worried if he thinks that Malfoy looks at you a lot. Harry wasn't too happy about what happened in the library earlier either."

"Maybe he's trying to keep tabs on Harry," suggested Hermione. "But when he catches Harry looking at him, he pretends that he's spying on me."

It was a theory she had made up to explain all the oddities between her and Malfoy. But the moment Hermione articulated the theory to Ginny, she realised how false it was; Malfoy was definitely interested in _her_ and not Harry. Their encounter in the library proved it completely, though what Malfoy was after was still nebulous. Did he really just want a better grade in Astronomy? And there was only one way Malfoy, who had always been quite a decent student, could have suddenly fallen behind in so many classes at once: his plan to let the Death Eaters into the castle. But that image of Malfoy—snobbish blood purist—just didn't jibe with the Malfoy who had just talked to her in the library. Hermione couldn't make heads or tails of it

Ginny, who didn't have the same information that Hermione did, seemed to take Hermione's explanation as plausible. She nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, good point. I mean, from what Ron's let slip, Harry's been pretty obsessed with Malfoy lately. And there was that whole Sectumsempra business, so you can understand why Malfoy might be interested in Harry."

Ginny poured herself another generous glass of pumpkin juice. "Mum sent me this thing about how Quidditch players need to drink more pumpkin juice. As if I need anymore…" She laughed happily on her own joke. "So I can tell Harry that Malfoy's not it either then. Which leaves…"

"Ron and Lavender."

"Yeah," agreed Ginny, sighing.

"That's not really it either," said Hermione, feeling that she owed Ginny some semblance of truth after lying about Malfoy. "I'm not unhappy anymore about Ron dating Lavender. I don't—well, I don't think I even fancy him anymore. Maybe a little. If you had asked me before winter break, I'd have said we'd be together by now. But it's not Ron, really. I'm just—just—just dissatisfied."

"Tell me why you're angry at Harry. Aside from that Prince book."

"I'm not upset about that anymore," said Hermione, feeling even more guilty. "I—well, lately I've been trying to give Harry tips so he can regain his former glory, but I'm nothing on the Prince, I'll admit it."

Ginny gave Hermione a knowing smile, one that only someone with her natural charm could pull off. "It was hard, wasn't it? Coming in second place in anything but Defence."

Hermione smiled sheepishly. "All right, you win. Yes it was."

"Welcome to how life feels for the rest of us." Ginny smirked a little as she went for a third glass of pumpkin juice. "You know, maybe you could just let Ron lie low a little, the way—well, the way you told me to let Harry out of my mind before."

"I did," Hermione pointed out. "I fancied Ron fourth year, but when Viktor asked me out, I stopped thinking about Ron and dated Viktor."

"Not the same," said Ginny. "When Viktor left, you decided to be good friends but nothing more, and you were only with him for six months. And the whole time, you were still thick as thieves with Ron and Harry."

"So what do you suggest I do?"

Ginny shrugged. "Terry Boot fancies you," she said. "Michael told me, when we were dating. And I'm sure he still does. Lots of the Ravenclaws do, actually. You and Susan Bones, the brainiest girls in your year."

Hermione laughed, Draco's words coming to her head. "They really live up to their reputation, don't they? Even in love."

"Yeah, well, just a thought," said Ginny. "Godric, Hermione, I'm sorry I let this sit until now. I can't believe I didn't notice how you've been looking down until Harry pointed it out. I feel awful."

"Don't," said Hermione.

"You still owe me an explanation about Harry," Ginny said as she finished off the rest of her juice and attacked what remained on her plate.

"He always—he always stands in the middle," said Hermione. "When he chooses a side, it's always Ron's side. I know that sounds petty but—"

"But it's not."

Something lifted off Hermione's heart, a weight which had settled there and grown into her without her even knowing it. "Thanks, Ginny."

Ginny smiled. "Next time, don't make Harry come to me begging me to do him a favour when I'm being a bad friend. Just pull me aside and smack me a little. I'm here for you, Hermione." She plopped the last bit of mashed potato into her mouth. "And now I report to Harry that he should have a talk with my brother." She leapt off the bench, hugged Hermione and she dashed away, saying, in her mock Lavender voice, "Miss you already, sweetheart!"

"Love you, Gin-Gin!" Hermione returned, laughing.

Ginny spun around, fluidly, her beautiful hair swinging behind her in a whirl. "Right back at you, Hermy-Hermy." She made a face at the nickname. "I mean, Herms-Herms!" Her face lit up at the way this sounded. "Oh, that's going to catch! I swear it!" she called as she turned and headed out of the Great Hall again. Her laughter could be heard echoing from the entrance hall.

Ginny's laughter rose like a shield around Hermione's heart, before seeping in, filling the cracks with confidence until Hermione felt that she was brimming with it.

.

.

* * *

.

A/N: Still in finals season hence the super-rapid updating. This also marks the last bit of pre-written material I have, so from now on the update rate will be slower, more on the order of once every two or three weeks. I do apologize for not spacing it out better, but I promise not to abandon this. I've poured way too many hours into this to do that. Again, thank you to my beta singtoangels for her patience and advice and to all of you for continuing to read! -raa

El: The longest chapter yet, just for you! Well, no, but I hope that leaves you at least a little sated. I also tend to find that Hermione is either Mary Sue-ish and is good at everything, or is strangely underpowered. Or better yet, the fics where she seems to be competent but then gets herself into situation after situation where Draco has to save her. Ah, well. To each their own. Hope finals are going well! Thank you for the review, as always.

El: I tend to find that actually doing what I want to do allows me to do things I don't want to do as much, hence... this. But I'm nowhere as disciplined as my posting makes it appear. I just started out with a lot more words written than I was posting. I also have a lot of errors that manage to sneak in despite multiple re-reads. Good luck with finals!

ordinary vamp: Hehe now we are tumblr friends! I am very excited about Gunhilda too, having built it up all this time. Unfortunately, Snape will not be actually playing matchmaker just yet...but yes, I wanted to give him a chance to be happier. So many of the characters in that generations (Remus and Sirius too) have such miserable lives and then die so early. Thanks for the reviews on both sites. It really warms the heart.

ordinary vamp: Thank you! I'm glad somebody reads on H&V because it feels like nobody reads on there . Sending out the next chapter to my beta now so hopefully soon for the next one? *crosses fingers*

cloudyautumn: Thank you so much for saying that. That is such high praise I feel I don't deserve it! I confess that I was tempted to go that route and actually wrote a few scenes in that vein but a long talk with my beta helped me see where the story really wanted to go. So you should sing her praises too! I think so many dramione fics have been written at this point that almost anything can be considered a cliche. In this chapter, for example, I have a "sympathetic Ginny" scene and a scene were Harry/Ron kick up a fuss when Draco tries to talk to Hermione. Both of those are cliches, in some sense. But yes! You should send me a list of all the dramione cliches you hate and I can see which ones I'm avoiding and which ones I'm falling into. As for going back and reviewing, I would love it, but please don't feel obliged. If you do though, I love concrit so anything you have to say, I would love to hear!

cloudyautumn: Oh trust me, I do look jealously at the reviews other fics receive, but I understand that authors have to earn trust and lots of people have been writing a lot longer than me. Besides, as a fanfic writer in the hp fandom writing with dramione as the main ship, I'm already pretty lucky. Oh yay on Ron and yes I love the other characters! Luna will make an appearance once DA picks up again, but not in mystic!Luna fashion. I understand the temptation but I agree with you that she's not omniscient. I also don't see her as particularly emotionally astute, although I do think she would be more understanding and accepting of d/hr because of her open-mindedness.

lilyflower42: Thank you. Aah I'm glad you liked that conversation.

LazyBum: Thank you for giving this fic a chance and also for the kind words and advice! Do you think the new summary is better? I hadn't ever considered my previous summary in that light but now that you mention it, I can see how someone might think that. So do you prefer shorter chapters or longer? My general impression was that was more in line with 1,000-3,000 word chapters.

SoulessxWarrior: I always found Voldemort's approach in the books to such things a little simplistic given his supposed brilliance. I hope it didn't break your suspension of disbelief? Thank you for being such a consistent reader and reviewer. You have no idea how much it helps.


	12. Under the Sky, Again

**Chapter 11: Under the Sky, Again**

_In which there is more Astronomy class and Hermione also hatches a plot  
_

_._

_._

It was a beautiful, clear night. Draco arrived to class early, wanting to make sure he was there to arrange everything if Granger didn't pull through. He helped Sinistra set up a few telescopes and whiled the rest of the time away staring down from the platform at the miniature—but still large—form of Hagrid moving about his hut. It was still a pleasure, simply seeing out of his eyes with this spell on him. The grounds were illuminated by the half-moon, which was hanging low in the sky, and with concentration, Draco could see every blade of grass reflecting the moonlight back up.

When Entwhistle walked onto the platform, he looked around until he saw Draco and shook his head discreetly while coming towards him: _I didn't talk Mandy round._

"Really," said Draco, when the other boy was close enough to hear, "did you even try?"

"Of course I did!" exclaimed Entwhistle, immediately shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching over.

So he hadn't tried at all. Draco was glad he had talked to Granger. He turned back to face the grounds and continued to watch Hagrid. From up here, the oaf seemed almost graceful.

"Excuse me, Kevin," came Granger's clear voice, startlingly close behind the two of them. "if you don't mind, Mandy asked that I work with Malfoy tonight."

"Mandy asked wh—" Entwhistle must have caught sight of Mandy beckoning or smiling or something because he didn't even bother to finish the sentence before packing up his scroll and quill and heading across the platform.

"You owe me one," said Granger, coming to stand beside Draco. She placed both arms on the balustrade, crossed her arms at the wrists, and leaned forward, stretching out and arching her back, before returning to a casual posture.

"You agreed," said Draco.

"So I did, but you still owe me one," replied Granger. She was looking out over the Forbidden Forest, whose trees in the section nearest the castle were somehow uniformly tall. From here, in the moonlight, it looked like an eerie garden of tightly planted broccoli. "I'm still deciding how you should make it up to me."

"I don't see why I—"

Granger turned to him with a mischievous smile, one Draco had never seen on her face, hadn't even thought was possible on her face. "I think I'm beginning to understand why people like acting like this." The smile faded into her thoughtful pursed lips expression, the one that accentuated so well the half-dimple on her right cheek. "It was really good of you, you know."

"I thought you said he didn't deserve a chance."

"That is what I thought."

"Then…"

Granger shrugged. "I think Mandy was feeling like she should talk to him in any case and I just gave her a push out the door. You know girls, we often just repeat"—she paused and seemed to think her phrasing over—"well, I don't want to say it like that."

How funny that Granger hedged her statements even when making social observations, as if truth were the most important quality to making a point.

Granger nodded when she had properly formulated what she wanted to say and began again: "I think at this age, we're all socialised to see dating in a certain way, and whenever a friend has difficulties, the first reaction is to say that whoever they're hung up on, they're not worth it. It's probably true, but sometimes it's also not what people need to hear."

Draco waited to see if there was more to the theory. When it appeared there wasn't, he said, lightly, "Well, no offence, Granger, but I don't see how anyone could ever be worth—"

"Malfoy! Granger! Your attention please!" Sinistra had apparently started class.

Draco caught a smirking Blaise observing the two of them from across the platform. Blaise was partnered, as he had been the last few weeks, with Theo. Poor Ernie Macmillan had now been paired with Millicent. Draco returned the smirk and cast _Flagrate_ silently when Sinistra had turned her own eye to her telescope. He gestured with his left hand at the pair of them, Theo and Blaise, and wrote _C-U-T-E!_ with his right. The flames hung in the air before fading into dark smoke.

Blaise scowled. Theo, ever the witty one, wrote back, _J-E-A-L-O-U-S?_

The sad thing was, thought Draco as he watched the smoke scatter slowly, he really was.

"Want to tell me what's happened between you two?" whispered Granger, who, surprisingly, had been watching the exchange instead of listening to Sinistra. "I mean, you and Theo."

Just the chance he needed. For once, Draco was immensely glad that she was so curious. "I'll trade you," he whispered back as Sinistra stopped lecturing and asked them to make scaling maps of the Southern Hemisphere sky from the perspective of the land mass that would become Madagascar, dated two billion years back.

Granger turned the dials on their telescope before arching an eyebrow and continuing their conversation. "Trade me for what? That favour you owe me?"

"No," said Draco. "Not that, because then you'd never get your answer. I don't owe you any favours."

"Oh, are you taking payment then?" said Granger, that mischievous smile on her face again. She gave a tinkling laugh. "How much to part with your secret, Malfoy? One Galleon?"

"You wound me," said Draco, adopting her tone without a second thought. It felt so easy, so right. He gave Granger a mischievous smile of his own. "You think I would tell you the Slytherin gossip for one measly Galleon?"

"Oh, I see," said Granger, who, Draco was glad to see, seemed game for the conversation. "Two, then."

Draco almost went for a joke about Weasley, something about how two Galleons might seem a fortune to Weasley but not to a Malfoy. Almost. He caught himself just in time, shaking his head and saying, "Two hundred at least!"

"Wow," said Granger. Draco saw that she was leaning down to look in the telescope again so he began to adjust it towards her. "Well then, if you don't mind, I don't think I want to know anymore."

"Oh, but I think you do," replied Draco. He stole a glance at her face before continuing his struggle with the telescope. It was quite stiff and Draco was obliged to step in and put some weight behind his arms to move it.

"Perhaps," said Granger as she pressed her eye to the eyepiece, "but not for two hundred Galleons, I don't."

Trying to keep his tone casual, Draco said, "How about this? You tell me where you heard the name the Half-Blood Prince and in return, I'll tell you what's been going on between me and Theo."

Granger straightened up in surprise, grabbing at the telescope for support as she did so.

They snatched their hands back at the same time when her fingers made contact with his arm instead. Draco stuffed his hand into his robe pocket.

Granger stood frozen, her eyes wide and fearful, a mooncalf caught in daylight.

"Just kidding," Draco said, after a long pause. "That is, you don't have to tell me."

After a moment, Granger nodded and turned to fix the telescope again.

They worked in silence for the rest of the evening.

.

* * *

.

What was disturbing about Granger, decided Draco as he lay in bed that night, was not really the fact that he found her attractive. That was only the animal part of him responding to what Granger was on the basest of levels. She was a girl, and he was a hot-blooded teenage boy.

He remembered that first year, when Granger proved to not to be slow or stupid, as he had expected on account of her blood, it was her desperate boasting that had convinced him she was truly below him. Draco liked a good boast himself, but Granger was at another level and he was sure that she was eager to prove herself only because she had something to hide.

He knew he wasn't the only one who had found her lacking on that front. Before she, Weasley, and Potter joined together to form some sort of three-headed heroic (more like, suicidal) questing beast, no one had liked her. And after the Trio had joined together, well, wasn't it obvious? They were three outcasts, together.

And so Draco had been content to leave his impression of Granger unrevised. Her loyalty and her cleverness he soon came to understand, but the for the most part, as soon as she had joined the Moronic Duo to complete the Golden Trio, well, she had become some sort of extension of Potter in Draco's mind.

But recent weeks had proven that to be a rather simplistic reading. What Draco had found out since outwitting her, just barely, that day in the Room of Requirement, was that she wasn't at all who he had thought she was.

If only he could properly describe Granger or understand how it was that someone of her blood could be as clever and presentable as she was, then, he was sure, he could put away this attraction, this unhealthy attraction to someone who was still, after all, below him.

If only he could.

.

* * *

.

The next night, Hermione approached her detention resolved that she would ask Snape about the Half-Blood Prince again. Even Monday night, she had felt a little bashful, embarrassment helping her to keep silent.

Her conversation over dinner with Ginny on Tuesday had somehow changed all that. She felt _free_.

No, she considered, that wasn't quite right; this free feeling had begun when she bargained with Malfoy over the oddest imaginable item, Mandy's on-again-off-again relationship.

He was a strange one, Malfoy. The more she interacted with him, the more she realised how much calculation went into his every act.

Malfoy had tried, very craftily indeed, to find out how she knew about the Half-Blood Prince. A second reflection after Astronomy had led Hermione to the conclusion that _that_ had been his true intention when he had convinced Hermione to ask Mandy to give Entwhistle another chance.

But that raised another question: If Malfoy did everything with intention, then had had he intended to _flirt_ with her too?

Hermione couldn't work it out. She had turned it over and over in her head all during class on Wednesday and she still couldn't make heads or tails of it.

What she wanted to say was that he had somehow been drawn into flirting with her, only to "come to his senses" when their hands met, most likely on account of his blood purism. But that made no sense. Why would Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, be attracted to her?

"Granger."

Hermione's head snapped up. She had almost walked straight into Snape! "Sorry, Professor," she said hastily.

"Shall we?"

.

* * *

Snape had decided they needed a review so Hermione began the long process of unfolding her memories, falsifying key parts. She shaded the conversation with Dean and Seamus that came up again. Before she had practiced cutting out their discussion on their parents entirely. Today, she pretended she and Dean didn't care about their parents, drawing on the feelings which might back this up, loneliness and alienation.

Snape withdrew from her mind at this. "Terrible."

Hermione's face flushed.

"The art of shading memory is not the only thing you are trying to learn, Miss Granger. You are learning to improvise _believable_ falsehoods."

"It may be unbelievable to you, maybe" she said, channeling a little more of what must have been her inner 'Ginny.' "I thought we were practicing for You-Know-Who? He knows nothing about me."

Snape arched an eyebrow, and Hermione felt even more thankful towards Ginny as she met his eyes.

"I would like to see this memory," said Snape.

He could see that?

"Oh, yes I can," said Snape. "That is the next step. You only protect your mind when I ask you to, or when you know I will be testing you, as I do when you are brewing potions for me. You must do so all the time."

Hermione sighed. "But it—"

"It's because you're doing it wrong," interrupted Snape. "You shouldn't aim to be blank box at all times. Amplify those feelings and memories that confirm what you want those around you to know."

"But you said—"

"I know what I said. This is what I'm saying now."

"Right," said Hermione. "Do you want to see the whole memory for real, or altered?"

She drew the memory out and Snape bent his face into the Penseive.

Mere moment later—memories are much faster in retrospect, Hermione had discovered—he emerged and drew his wand. "Very well. I will try to access that same memory, and any others that might follow. Prepare your mind."

Hermione did so. She put up the blank wall.

"No. What should I think of you, Miss Granger? Probably you are an eager student. Maybe you want to impress me. Maybe I make you feel nervous. Choose feelings that will make me feel powerful, important, full of myself."

Hermione drew out the nervousness and the insecurity in her, trying to string Snape along with the feelings.

"Better, but barely," said Snape. He began to push at her, testing for insincerity.

Hermione saw suddenly how Snape could once have been a normal man and, through years of this, become emotionally wounded.

She doubted that this was the full story of course. In fact, she was sure Snape had lived a hard life. But this constant guarding and manipulation, this presentation of one's self in one's own mind must have an effect on the soul. In fact, after just a few minutes of selling this other version of herself, Hermione found it harder to think or even feel. Yes, years of practicing this could definitely stunt one's emotional growth.

In this moment of clarity on Snape's situation, Hermione's concentration broke.

_'But it's not,' Ginny was saying, and as Hermione watched Ginny leave the Great Hall, the weight that had grown into her lifted again, leaving only levity behind. She was talking to Mandy in the Divination section of the library, where no other Ravenclaws would be, and explaining that she thought Mandy needed 'closure' and suddenly Mandy was hugging her, laughing and crying at the same time and saying that closure was exactly what she needed. She was looking out onto the Forbidden Forest, Malfoy at her side, and telling him that he owed her something, that soaring freedom within her. She was peering through the telescope when Malfoy said that thing about the Half-Blood Prince and she straightened up quickly and there had been that moment where their hands met and then there was that awkward silence and the conclusion that he was_—the memory rewinded; she could feel Snape pulling at it—_Malfoy said that thing about the Half-Blood Prince and—_

The urgency of having to know if Snape was really the Half-Blood Prince helped Hermione regain her own mind. She pushed at his presence until it diminished.

"Are you?" she said, knowing he had heard her last thought.

Snape was looking at her with a blank face.

"Are you the Half-Blood Prince?" said Hermione.

"You understand now why I see your possession of the book as thievery, Miss Granger."

"You're the Half-Blood Prince and _yet_ you assigned Harry detention for using Sectumsempra?"

Snape's face, though still blank, took on a harder aspect. "_I_ didn't use the spell on an innocent student."

"Innocent, my hat!" Hermione rose from her seat, pointing her finger at Snape. "You know just as well as I do that Draco Malfoy—"

"Silencio," said Snape. "Are you _trying_ to have the whole castle hear? Have you forgotten what you should and _should not_ know? Harry Potter ran into Draco Malfoy in the bathroom, and without further knowledge, saw fit to attack—"

Hermione waved her wand, undoing the spell. "You don't know how it started. But then again, you've always hated Harry," she said. "Even when he was a first-year and had never done a thing to you."

"Don't question me," said Snape.

"I'm not," snapped Hermione. "I'm stating a fact."

"Enough."

There was a coldness about Snape that Hermione had forgotten. She shrunk away from him.

"We will resume your lessons Saturday afternoon. Dismissed."

.

* * *

.

On Thursday night before Astronomy, Draco brought his finished analysis to Snape, but when Snape had finished reading it, instead of remarking on it, he said, "I would _appreciate_ it, Draco, if you would not go spilling secrets to all manners of people, especially close friends of Harry Potter."

"But I didn't—"

"What, exactly, do you think you are doing, _befriending_ Hermione Granger?"

Draco refused to be cowed. He wasn't the one meeting with Granger for hours four times a week. "What, exactly, do _you_ think you're doing? Detentions every night…"

"She is marking papers for me," said Snape. "I am too busy to do it all myself, since I am helping _you_ with your—"

Though Draco's voice had long stopped changing, it rose an octave as he said, "You are working on something secret! I know you—"

"Silence," hissed Snape. "I am going to warn you, Draco. Hermione Granger is not easy or simple to manipulate. Do not try. You will fail."

I'll get my answers from Granger, thought Draco. I don't need you for that. You're up to something and I'll find out what it is.

When Draco had been silent for long enough, Snape handed him back the scroll and said that it was satisfactory; the analysis of ingredients was correct. Then Snape held out a very slim booklet which was falling apart.

"Gunhilda's other private notes. Her last diary, actually," said Snape. "One of two copies in the world."

"Who owns the other?"

"A private collector," said Snape with a sneer. "That one is the original. I'm sure our private collector wouldn't understand even two words of it."

Draco flipped it open and was surprised to see that it was not in Old English or Latin. He blew some dust off the page, ignoring Snape's menacing gaze when the pages fluttered delicately, and examined the words. "German, Old High German," Draco concluded.

"Do you know it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Dismissed."

Draco tucked the booklet into a robe pocket; he did not think Snape would take kindly to his Banishing Gunhilda's diaries. When he reached the top of the stairs and walked out onto the platform, his feet led him automatically to the telescope he had shared with Granger two nights before.

"Hello Draco, nice night, isn't it?" said the girl who was standing at the telescope. Draco looked up to find himself just a few inches from Lisa Turpin. His eyes fell immediately to her lips.

Her partner, Sue Li, frowned at Lisa's friendly tone. "What are you doing?" she hissed at Lisa, not giving Draco a second glance. "They're friends now, remember? Avery told Morag that he caught Draco and Kevin plotting—"

"Shut up, Li," said Draco, without much heat. "All lies. Avery's a piece of shit and you're a fool if you believe him."

Before Li could respond, Entwhistle had come to the platform, looking as morose as ever. "Looks like we'll have to be partners again, Malfoy." He nodded at his two housemates. "Sue, Lisa."

But Draco was not about to give up Granger as his partner so easily, not when he still needed answers, badly, from her. "Has Brocklehurst asked Granger if she's willing to switch?" he said.

"Well, no," said Entwhistle, looking confused. "But isn't it obvious—"

"Not at all," said Draco. "We should give Granger a choice." He gave Lisa a devilish smile. "You see, sometimes the ladies like working with me." The line fell a little flat though, as Lisa quickly stopped smiling back when Li glared at her. "Go ask Macmillan to partner with you. He'd be happy to switch and I know Millicent's not fond of him either."

"No need," said Granger, who had come up behind them. She had that vaguely superior look on her face that Draco had often hated in years past. "I'd be happy to work with Mandy again."

Damn Granger. Draco pasted a smile on his face, as if he had wanted to work with Entwhistle all along, and said, "Thanks, Granger. Much appreciated."

Patting Entwhistle on the back, Draco led him over to the farthest telescope, where they would have a chance to talk without fear of anyone hearing.

"So?" he prompted when they had gotten there, annoyed already at Entwhistle's failure. Shouldn't it have been simple, explaining whatever it was that had separated them? Damn it, Draco needed to know, now more than ever, whether Snape could be trusted. Sunday was close now, very close.

"So nothing," said Entwhistle, shuffling his feet. He began to fiddle with the knobs of the telescope, turning them this way and that.

Draco let him fiddle. Was it possible to execute a switch again before the end of the lesson? Sinistra hadn't assigned partners for the exploding star project on Tuesday. She would definitely assign them tonight, and likely with the person they were currently paired with. Tuesday night had shown that Granger was hard to get answers from, too, though still easier than Snape. That meant that Draco needed to partner with her for that project if he wanted to have a shot. It was decided, then.

When Draco returned his attention to Entwhistle, he found that their telescope was now the proper shape, a contorted crane, neck bent over the bannister. "Well done," he said.

"Don't know why I even let you talk me into trying," said Entwhistle, his own posture imitating the telescope's, with his neck shrunken, and his shoulders raised and tense. "I should have known—"

"Well," said Draco. "You told me that she had no reason to be angry with you? Do you stand by that?"

"Yes!" said Entwhistle. "It wasn't my fault!"

It was time to push a little harder. "What wasn't?"

"She caught me kissing a fourth year at the puzzle fest we threw a couple weeks ago," explained Entwhistle.

Draco whistled. "And it's not your fault, you say."

"It's not!" exclaimed Entwhistle. "I was… Damn it. I'm telling you. I didn't want to kiss her."

"Right, so your lips just connected, randomly." Draco felt a little disgusted. He had actually believed Entwhistle. And he had gotten Granger to essentially set the two of them up. No wonder Brocklehurst had looked so heart-broken.

"It wasn't random, I just didn't mean to!" Entwhistle shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Were you drunk?"

"No," said Entwhistle miserably. "I had a few drinks, but not enough to get drunk."

"Then?" said Draco, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You're telling me you kissed a girl, Brocklehurst caught you and you didn't apologise?"

"No!" said Entwhistle. "I shouldn't have to—"

"Pathetic," said Draco.

"I would apologise," said Entwhistle hotly, "if I thought admitting to something false would get us anywhere. I'm not going to lie just so Mandy will—"

"You're saying Brocklehurst would have taken you back if you apologised and then you just didn't?"

"Yes!" said Entwhistle, looking, amazingly, relieved. "That's exactly what I'm saying. Finally, someone who understa—"

"But why would you do that?" said Draco. "It's your fault. Just apologise."

Entwhistle simply clammed up after that, so that Draco was forced to work on the problems Sinistra assigned them, including correcting their errors from Tuesday, alone.

Halfway through the class, Draco decided to try again; he had made nearly no progress, seeing as he had no time to study, what with his project on Gunhilda and everything else. He needed answers, not only from Granger, but also on this assignment. "Look, Entwhistle—Kevin—can I call you that? Kevin?" Since Entwhistle was still not responding, Draco pushed the telescope aside so Entwhistle would have to look at him. "Kevin, I didn't mean to suggest that—"

"That's exactly what you meant to suggest," said Entwhistle miserably, his voice strangely nasally. "And of course you would. Who would believe me?"

Entwhistle was crouched over his paper and Draco could see the beginnings of tears building in his eyes.

There was something Draco was missing here. Something that had been jumped over.

"Believe you about what?" said Draco, thinking through every faux compassionate speech he had ever heard Pansy fake her way through and trying to adopt some of her tone.

Entwhistle shot him a look, his eyes dark within the circles which gave evidence to his sleepless nights. "None of the others believed me," he said. "Anthony, Terry, Michael…They also told me that it was my fault and I should either apologise or move on."

"I'm—I'm sorry," said Draco, hoping that would do the trick.

Entwhistle gave a great bark of a laugh, without feeling. The unfurled scroll Entwhistle had been pouring over was shoved in front of Draco. "Go on then," said Entwhistle, "since that's what you're after."

Draco resisted the temptation, but only barely. He rolled the scroll back up without looking at the answers and handed it back to Entwhistle, saying, "Try me."

Entwhistle gave a hollow laugh to match his hollow expression. "Yeah, right."

"Ent—Kevin, try me. You know that I don't have any friends to tell anyway."

Self-deprecation. How Draco hated it. Especially its effectiveness. Some life entered Entwhistle, briefly, as he processed Draco's words, but it seeped out just as quickly, and Entwhistle sighed, "Maybe it is my fault."

"What is?"

"I—" Entwhistle stuck the scroll out again. "Don't worry about it. Go ahead, copy what you need."

Draco didn't take it. "You didn't want to kiss her," he said, trying to lead Entwhistle in an explanation.

There was no response.

"Did you fix your own drink?" said Draco suddenly, remembering the nauseating pink window display he had seen at the Weasley joke shop over Christmas break when, at Snape's suggestion, he and his mother visited the store to see if there was anything they would find useful.

Entwhistle gave him a startled look.

"'Course you didn't," Draco continued. "Someone gave it to you, likely the girl who you ended up snogging."

Entwhistle began to fiddle with the telescope, almost dismantling it before realising what he was doing and beginning to put it together again.

"You know," said Draco. "There's ways to test if you've been—"

"You think I don't know that?" said Entwhistle, pounding hard at the stubborn equipment when it refused to fit together. "Think how it would sound, Malfoy. People would—"

"People would understand."

Entwhistle gave that hollow laugh again. "They would understand. Yeah, right. When did a boy ever turn down a free kiss? That's how the argument goes. Besides, even if I were a girl, people would still doubt. Remember what happened when the legislation came to the table, second year?"

Draco just barely recalled his father's disdain at the legislation—"As if a love potion ever hurt any truly accomplished witch or wizard. Before you know it, even simple duelling spells will be outlawed," his father had said. But the legislation had fallen through when the Chamber of Secrets was reopened here at the castle.

"You know, I thought Mandy'd believe me," continued Entwhistle. "I really thought she would, if I only got a chance to explain. It kept me going, that idea. But Mandy didn't want to hear about it. And when I tried to tell her, she just got this sour look on her face as if she thought I was making it all up and walked away."

"Veritaserum," suggested Draco. "It's highly regulated but for the right price you can get some at—"

Entwhistle shrugged. "Now I'm thinking, what's the point, if she won't even believe me? Shouldn't what I say have more worth than that?"

Yes, Draco wanted to say, but that's rarely how it works.

"Do you feel all right at least?" Draco finally said. He was amazed to hear the sincerity in his voice, but then, he was amazed to realise that he was moved, a little, by pity. Draco almost never fixed his own drink at the parties, and if Pansy hadn't laid claim to him for years, he was sure something of the sort would have happened sooner or later. Not that he thought he would have minded, of course.

He had startled Entwhistle again. The other boy stared at him for what seemed an eternity before relaxing, rubbing at his eyes and nodding tiredly, saying, "It's more not being believed, than anything. If anything else had happened, well, I dunno. But nothing terrible happened to me. Physically, that is."

"So did you or didn't you tell Brocklehurst that someone had put a drop or two of something in your drink?"

"I didn't but—"

Here it was, his in. "So you just told her that you didn't know what you were doing and you didn't mean to and thought she would believe you."

"Well, yeah," said Entwhistle. "I mean, she's—"

"She's not in fucking N.E.W.T. Potions like you are. She probably doesn't know," said Draco. "And Slughorn didn't even cover many of the lesser love potions."

Entwhistle had finished with Draco's scroll. "Lucky for you we were doing rote memorisation stuff tonight," he said, handing it back and evading Draco's eyes as he did so. "I skipped the analysis but only Granger will get it anyway so—"

Perfect. "Let's ask them," said Draco.

"No!" said Entwhistle. "Mandy told me that she didn't—"

Draco grabbed his scroll. "Fine, I'll ask," he said, quickly walking away before Entwhistle could stop him. That had worked out very well indeed; now he could partner Brocklehurst and Entwhistle up again without any guilt at all, and he was almost certain Brocklehurst would be receptive to what Entwhistle had to say.

When he got near the pair of girls, there was a buzz in his ears which Draco realised was the effect of a well-cast Muffliato. She must have been paying attention when he showed her the spell briefly just that once in the library. Figured.

The buzz disappeared; Granger had undone the spell. "What is it, Malfoy?" she asked warily.

"I was wondering if you'd looked at the last question," he said.

Granger began to explain but Draco held up a hand. "Kevin needs the answer, too."

"What do you suggest I do about that?" said Granger, throwing Draco a pointed look: What are you doing?

"Looks like both you girls have the answer written," said Draco. "Wouldn't it be faster if Brocklehurst explained it to me and you explained it to Kevin?"

"Absolutely not," said Granger. "What are you—"

"Just go, Hermione," said Brocklehurst.

Draco took a moment to really take Brocklehurst in for the first time in Merlin knows how long. She had grown her hair out, and now wore a thick, blunt fringe framed behind dark-rimmed, rectangular eyeglasses. The effect was mesmerising; the fringe was girlish, and the eyeglasses severe.

Brocklehurst took a deep breath. "The error we all made last class about Madagascar is—"

"I don't care," said Draco. "I'm here about Kevin."

Brocklehurst blinked a little, but recovered her cool quickly. "Not you, too," she said.

Draco felt a little sorrier for Entwhistle; she was a tough one. "Yes, me too," he replied. "I'd think you being a Brocklehurst, you'd be a little more understanding of your boyfriend's—"

"Ex-boyfriend."

"—your ex-boyfriend's predicament. Didn't your aunt Magda marry Europa Fawley, the one who was going on and on about the dangers of love potions a few years ago?"

Brocklehurst set down her papers and looked intently at Draco. Here was a girl whose eyeglasses did nothing to lessen the severity of her expressions. "What are you implying?" she said.

"I think you should talk to Kevin," said Draco, picking up her papers and looking at them. "You know, Kevin knows this spell where you can just imitate—"

Brocklehurst grabbed her stack of scrolls, and his. She pointed her wand at his page. "_Perscribo Imitator_."

Draco watched the almost-Draco-script spread over the bottom of his scroll.

Draco reached out for it as the writing finished but Brocklehurst tucked the scroll away, into the loose sleeves of her robes. "How do you know?" she demanded when Draco looked questioningly at her.

"How do _you_?" he countered.

Brocklehurst gave him a once-over, nodded, and handed him his scroll. "I'll have Hermione explain the rest to you, if you don't mind," she said.

Draco sat down; the girls had chosen a telescope located next to a convenient hollowed-out bench built into the balustrade. He watched Brocklehurst cross the platform and whisper something into Granger's ears. Granger gave Brocklehurst a little hug before hurrying over, her skirt swishing one way and then the other way.

"What did you tell her?" she said, sitting down beside him.

"That's between him and her. And me, I suppose."

Granger smiled. "You have a way with people, you know."

Draco grunted, feigning male discomfort with showing his feelings the way he was sure the boys Granger was used to, the way Weasley or Potter or even Longbottom would act when faced with a compliment like that. He bent forward over his scroll, trying to make out the writing Brocklehurst had spelled onto the bottom. He grunted again when he realised it made no sense to him.

"Mm?" said Granger. "Oh, right. Of course. Did you still need the answer to the last question?"

"Brocklehurst gave it to me, but I can't make heads or tails of it."

"Well, let's see." Granger took his scroll in hand and then gave her tinkling laugh. "Oh no, Malfoy, I don't think this will do at all."

He glanced at the scroll. Granger was right; though both Brocklehurst's and Entwhistle's fake handwriting were similar to Draco's, placed together, they were clearly different. "Fuck," he said, taking his wand out to siphon the ink off the scroll.

"No need," said Granger, drawing her own wand and tapping at some of the letters. "So do you want me to explain the rest now or later when I've finished fixing these letters?"

"Later, please," said Draco.

"Surprises me how much Ravenclaws cheat," remarked Granger as she worked through his scroll. "I always thought that they'd be well, the ones pursuing intellectual knowledge for the sake of it."

"You're one to be talking," said Draco. Granger was surprisingly efficient at ink and handwriting charms. Draco had always assumed, from her behaviour in class, that she'd be a real stick in the mud when it came to copying schoolwork. But years of being friends with Potter and Weasley must have rubbed off on her; her proficiency with his scroll spoke to a certain laxness towards cheating.

Granger gave her tinkling laugh again. "Maybe I'm just good at these things."

"Bollocks," said Draco. "Handwriting spells are some of the hardest ink-related spells to learn and you know it."

Granger held the scroll out. When he took it, she stood, turned, and began to fiddle with the telescope.

"Now come here and look," she said, in a tone which reminded Draco of the first time he had met her: confident, commanding. _Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one,_ she had said.

Draco came to stand beside her, and they were once again looking out onto the grounds.

"It would help if you could _see_," she said.

Draco understood. He didn't think it was worth telling her he had already performed the spell, their spell. It was like a secret, a secret between him and Granger. He flicked his wand at his eyes again and Granger, taking a look at his pupils, was satisfied.

She cast two beams of light out, one northwards and the other eastwards. "What do you see?"

"They curve," said Draco, glad he could follow the light out for thousands of kilometres.

"Right," said Granger, adjusting the telescope so that it had dual lenses and bending them down so they could see further beyond the horizon. Draco took the hint and leaned into the telescope. "Now, I'm glad you can see properly now because I couldn't see it before when I didn't have the spell on me." Granger sent the beams out again. "You see how the curves are slightly different?"

"Yeah, but I know that—"

"No," said Granger. "You have to think why. We both know that our planet, like many others, is slightly larger around the Equator than it is around the poles. The question is: what was it like three billion years ago?"

Draco understood this too. Spelling away the last few sentences with his wand, he began to scribble his own answer on.

"You're welcome," said Granger.

"Thank you," he replied, once he had finished writing. A glance around the class told him that they were the first ones to finish. Brocklehurst and Entwhistle, who, Draco supposed, had had a shot, were standing very close and having a hushed conversation.

Granger followed his gaze and saw where he was looking. "You really were rooting for him," she said.

"Well," said Draco, "he deserved to be heard."

"Well," said Granger, "I still think you just wanted a good project partner. That, or you want to know how I know about Snape's name. That is, his other name, the one he invented."

"Both," said Draco, realising that she was about to give him his answer. Incredible. Good acts really do reap good rewards, he thought drolly as he waited.

"It's…" Granger looked a little awkward. "It's—er, it's why I have detention, actually. I found one of his old textbooks and he accused me of stealing it."

"You _found_ it?"

"Yeah," she said lightly now, all traces of awkwardness gone now. "In the library."

"But you didn't know it was his."

"No, of course not," said Granger. "He just told me he knew the original owner, was going to return it, and that I would have to serve detention for weeks and weeks."

"A bit of an overreaction."

"Well." She shrugged. "Yes, it was. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"I'll admit," said Draco, "I thought it'd be more interesting."

Suddenly, there was the same smile he had caught Tuesday, except wider, more genuine. Not so mischievous and more—proud? Happy? "You certainly did a lot of work to find out."

Draco snorted. "You have no idea. Ent—Kevin's a ball of feelings."

Granger was still smiling. "But it was really decent of you all the same."

He didn't know what to do when she was smiling like that. Draco cleared his throat and went to turn in his scroll. Granger followed close behind.

Sinistra accepted their work, nodded happily and announced to the class at large that since no one had made any progress on the exploding star models, they would work with their classroom partners to finish. She expected their models, at the latest, in two weeks.

Draco almost punched the air in victory but managed to channel it into what he thought was a charming smile. Well done, Draco, he thought as he met Granger's eyes. Well done.

But there was more work to do, because Granger, instead of returning Draco's smile, gave Draco that same frightened mooncalf look she had given him Tuesday before wishing him a good night and walking off briskly.

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* * *

Stupid, Hermione thought as she hurried back to Gryffindor tower. Stupid, that's what she was. What had she been thinking, goading Draco Malfoy like that about the title Snape had designed for himself?

She knew very well what she had been thinking: that to be close to Malfoy wouldn't be such a bad thing, in the coming weeks, if he was really planning something. Her detention on Wednesday had shown Snape to be an intractable wall, and without even trying to talk toy him, Hermione doubted Dumbledore would any more helpful. Harry was much closer to Dumbledore and even Harry had had little to no success discussing his theories on Malfoy with Dumbledore.

But now that Hermione had laid the groundwork to enable closer interactions and they were actually partners on this project, she and Malfoy, she began wondering if it was the right course of action after all. Maybe Malfoy wanted to know more than just how Hermione had come to learn of the name "Half-Blood Prince." Maybe he wanted to spy on Harry. Now she had set him up perfectly.

Or maybe he really did want to help Entwhistle out. What could he have said to Mandy that would have changed her mind? Only this evening just after dinner, Mandy had sought her out urgently, crying, and saying it was over between her and Entwhistle for sure.

And now…. Well, suffice to say, Hermione had discovered that when he was amenable to the idea, Malfoy could have quite a way with people. She would just have to watch herself more closely and make sure she didn't give in to that free, soaring feeling that he brought out in her, at least not around him. So what if giving in to it actually felt as if she was finally being given permission to be herself? She had been content to be studious, loyal, brave Hermione for seventeen years, channeling her ambition into helping others and so, she was convinced, she would remain.

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* * *

I thought  
once  
that I knew you.

That was  
before;  
and then I really met you.

I knew  
next  
that I did not know you.

But now I know you  
and I realise:  
it was me I hardly knew.

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* * *

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A/N: Unfortunately, I decided the material couldn't be broken up so you get two week's worth right now... which means probably a two week wait before the next chapter. Thank you, as always, to singtoangels, my beta, and to all of you for reading and commenting. I love to hear your thoughts and I do welcome constructive criticism, in case you were wondering. For example, I love the last bit of this chapter but also feel very nervous about it. In any case, I hope your summers are progressing nicely! -raa

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cloudyautumn: Visual descriptions (or the lack thereof) are a weakness of mine and I'm definitely trying to make things more visual so thank you for the concrit! But I will keep in mind not to have too many chocolate curls or tawney golden eyes, haha! Yeah, I hesitate to offer too much "insight" into what I think is going on in Draco's mind b/c obviously I hope the text speaks for itself, but I'd say that he's definitely attracted to her. As for his pureblood fanaticism, yeah obviously this is perhaps, even more than Draco's canon reputation for being a coward/bully, the biggest obstacle in dramione fanfiction and I hope to do it justice.. but we'll just have to see. If you have any advice/comments, I'd love to hear them.

DarkFairy8605: Aah yay thank you! Lol I must confess I wasn't thinking in that direction but if you were going to choose, what would Hermione's animagus form be?

DarkFairy8605: Aah two requests to not kill Snape off! I have to keep mum, I'm afraid. Thank you for the review and encouragement!

Ari: Thank you for the review!

ordinary vamp: Hi ordinary vamp! hehe thank you again! Yeah, they are definitely moving really slowly, and unfortunately, Hermione's even less clear on what she might/might not be feeling than Draco is!

FallenStar22: Hello FallenStar22! I must confess I was afraid you'd decided this fic sucked and stopped reading, so I'm glad to see you again! Hehe yes Hermione knows a lot of facts but sometimes she still can't compete with Ron, who grew up in wizarding society after all. Thank you for the comments!

golojolo: Hi golojolo! Thank you so much for the reviews! I hope that your exams went well! Yay math and physics! You know, I've never read a version of Slughorn I didn't enjoy - he seems to be one of those characters who is so well created and so familiar that everyone can adopt him. I love badass!Snape too and he will make some more appearances (: As for ooc villians, yeah I've never understood it either; I think I have the opposite problem - I want to redeem everyone. Hence why I even read tomione sometimes, lol. Terry/Hermione would definitely be interesting, though I guess I think Anthony/Hermione would be more expected as he's also a prefect and probably a better student? Not sure..

El: Yeah, frankly, relationships that aren't equal don't interest me. Good point on Hermione's experience social politics; I'd definitely say Draco is more intuitive on that front. Yeah, I always found it sad there weren't more canon Gryffindor girls around, esp in Hermione's year! I know people sometimes assign random girls to be the other two, but then they're not mentioned as being part of D.A. and Hermione's not close to them so it all becomes very confusing. If you're still taking finals, good luck! If not, I hope you take some time to relax!

Guest: thank you so much! Trust me, I love the gushing. Haha.. Yeah, I was pretty sad when he died in canon, but.. well (: we'll see.

penguin2012: Thank you for the review! Unfortunately everything is planned already so I can't exactly use your suggestions, but don't worry, there will be much more deep Hermione/Draco talking and sympathetic!Ginny to look forward to, and you're definitely right that there should be more of both of those. I have been neglecting Ginny, I must confess

mh21: PM'd you, but just wanted to add: hope that clears up where Draco stands right now regarding his attraction to Hermione.

Miki: Oh yay, I was hoping someone would catch that! Yes, I was planning to bring that detail up later but I'm super happy that you mentioned it! Yes, I was learning about the Fourier transform and so I couldn't help but sneak him in somewhere. Thank you so much for the review and for the careful reading. I'm always amazed by how carefully others read. Puts me to shame. And oh no, laundry! I love taking clean clothes out of the dryer and folding them but how I wish I could only do laundry a few times a year.


	13. The Project, Part I

**Chapter 12: The project, Part I**

_In which our two protagonists begin working on their project..._

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It was dark in the dormitory when Draco sat up in haze of realisation. He had heard Granger talking about Snape, all those weeks ago in Myrtle's bathroom. _Muffliato,_ Weasley had said. Then Granger had tried to stop her, and Weasley had answered, "Not everything that comes out of the Prince's book is bad."

So neither girl had known who the Prince was, by the sounds of it. More than that, Granger had disapproved, even though she was the one who had found the book—at least, so she said. But there was no disapproval from Granger now, it seemed, judging by her use of the spell tonight.

If she had disliked the book so, why had she been discovered carrying it around? And had she changed her mind simply because she now knew who the Prince was?

Draco was awake for a long time after that, wondering how anyone could ever know whether they could trust Snape. Dumbledore had complete faith in him, as did the Dark Lord. His mother trusted Snape completely, his father, somewhat. And despite Aunt Bella's warnings, Draco had come to trust Snape utterly, at least for a few weeks there.

If he had Snape's position, would he choose to serve the Dark Lord? Snape wasn't like Draco; he had no family to think of, and not even a name to be proud of. The Prince's were old, to be sure, but their family had been nearly destitute even when Eileen Prince had caused a scandal by running off with a Muggle.

And there was that burning question, that unstoppable, unbelievable question which always gave Draco pause. _Why would Dumbledore believe in Snape unless Snape really did have a change of heart?_ Dumbledore might be old, even a little naive, but surely such a great wizard would not merely believe a tale of forgiveness. It was much easier to believe that Dumbledore had heard, or seen something actual, some true evidence of Snape's loyalties.

But that was also impossible to believe. To stop serving the Dark Lord was to ask for death.

Sleep, or rather, alertness, came to Draco in starts, stuck between uneasy visions of the Dark Lord's pale hand on his yew wand and pulsing, writhing figures on stone floors. And just a few times, he saw it: his own face, twisted in pain, beads of sweat running down the sides, and his entire body twitching as he clutched his left arm.

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* * *

"So."

Hermione tucked her hair back as she looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing right beside her. "Malfoy," she said.

Malfoy stole a quick glance behind him before pulling a chair up to the one-person desk Hermione had found. "Studying late on a Saturday, I see," he said.

"Yes." Hermione wanted to add something, but she didn't know what. Don't give in, she thought. Don't give in. Don't slip. Don't let it be like two nights ago in Astronomy.

"Studious of you."

Hermione didn't dignify that with an answer.

"Where's Potter?"

"Why do you ask," Hermione snapped, suddenly annoyed. Was _that_ what he had been after all along?

Malfoy traced the wood of the table with one pale, long finger before looking up and shrugging. "No reason."

"Well, he's not here, if that's what you want to know."

"If you're not expecting anyone to join you, then perhaps we could work on the project?"

Hermione shrugged as well. "If you like," she replied, packing up her things with a wave of her wand, and starting for the main area."Let's find a larger table."

"No, wait," Malfoy said, rising quickly. "There's a nook. Behind Divination."

"Oh?"

"Don't know of it? Surprising. Thought you knew every corner of the library."

"Funny," said Hermione shortly. Malfoy was making her defensive, and she couldn't even fathom why. "Is that why you suggested it?"

After a pause, Malfoy said, "Nobody ever goes there."

"Don't want to be seen in the company of the likes of me?" said Hermione, feeling herself give in anyway to that free self. But this was not the same Hermione as the one who had smiled at Draco Malfoy during Astronomy, spirit sanguine and soaring under the stars; this one was shaded, weighed with remembrance. A freer tongue meant a freer mind; Hermione had finally remembered not just why Malfoy was dangerous, but why she should be angry at him. She let the implication hang in the space between them, and she could see, in the blankness of Malfoy's gaze, the wheels turning in his head.

"You mean Gryffindors," he said flatly after a moment. "Not the first time I had to work with—"

"A Muggle-born. Or as some like to call me,"—Hermione forced a laugh here—"a Mudblood."

Another long moment. "You can call yourself that, if you like," said Malfoy. "We can work out there, if you like too." He gestured behind him, through one of the narrow bookshelves towards the main area at the centre of the library.

Hermione let the silence draw out between them before she said quietly, "You're the first person who ever called me that, you know. Perhaps you understand why I'm not eager to be alone anywhere with you at the moment."

He looked a little hurt for some reason, but she must have imagined it, she must have, because the next moment, he was all nonchalance, leaning against the shelf with his hands tucked into his pockets. "Doesn't matter to me, Granger," he said, shrugging. "If you want Pansy and Blaise sending you more notes in Transfiguration, be my guest. Just don't blame me when it happens."

A laugh, a forced, harsh laugh not unlike the one she had given when arguing with Ron about Muggles and his father in the Great Hall, rose up from Hermione's chest and caught in her throat before sounding out. Malfoy seemed startled by this, and he took a step back before recovering to lean on his shelf again.

"I will blame you if I choose to," Hermione said, when she had finished laughing, her throat sore from where it had caught. "And wouldn't I be right to, Malfoy? I'd be angry at you too, if I were Pansy. But never mind that; I was just collateral damage there, not like other times. The real point is this: you're not even sorry." She left the last part unsaid, but thought it all the same. _For all those other times. For making fun of my teeth and calling me a Mudblood and laughingly pointing out at the World Cup that I could be killed by the likes of your father._

Malfoy had frozen, and Hermione stopped looking at him, focusing instead on the dust floating in the stilted, stifled air between them. The dust flowed and then glowed as the setting sun came through the low stained glass window behind her and illuminated the walkway. She wondered if, in a situation like this, tension could be translated magically into a force. To freeze air, perhaps.

Malfoy cleared his throat and pushed off his shelf. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down once, and then he said, "Next time, Granger, if you're busy, just say so."

With a quick turn and two large strides, he was out of decent-talking-voice range, so Hermione swallowed any retort she had been forming, and leaned backwards against the same shelf he had just deserted, pressing her shoulder blades against the cool wood and tilting her head up to look into the aged arches of the library. What had she expected? An uncomfortable shift and a muttered, insincere apology?

No, of course not. But she still wanted something. An acknowledgement, perhaps.

She closed her eyes and swallowed once, hearing the click on each side of her forehead, like tension leaving her head. It would have been smarter not to say anything at all. They had been perfectly civil before, hadn't they? And the project needed doing.

But she didn't feel sorry. Not at all.

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* * *

The party had started with sundown this time, and of course, Draco had only learned of the theme second-hand from Goyle. It was Wizards and Witches of the Ages.

He walked straight past the Carrow twins' brooding, red-robed Morgan Le Faye and Morgause, stared straight through Pansy's shrouded, dark-eyed Cliodna, and managed only a tight-lipped smile at Astoria's impressive rendition of Ignatia Wildsmith before he was through, finally through the crowd and making his way down the cool, stone stairs, towards quiet. The room was thankfully empty when he reached it, and Draco, after one moment where he really believed he had again conquered the rising anger, drew his wand and pointed it deliberately at Blaise's bunk, saying, "_Reducto._"

The bed exploded with a loud bang.

There was a brief pause in the pounding beat from downstairs.

Draco leaned against his own bunk, feeling stupid. That had made him feel worse, not better, though the anger had drained, somewhat. How the fuck Granger had managed to wind him up like that, he didn't even know. He could still feel the blood pounding in his head. It was only with the greatest self-control that he had stopped what was at the tip of his tongue. It's behaviour like that, Granger, he had wanted to say, that makes the rest of us doubt that you're one of us. Always fighting, always demanding.

But then again, if Pansy had done something like that, wouldn't that have been proof that she was worth all that and knew it and wouldn't take anything less?

The door opened. Blaise slipped through the crack, but was followed by the more solid shape of Theo.

"What happened," demanded Blaise.

"I'll fix it," Draco said dully.

"Thought you would just—"

"Don't," said Theo suddenly. "It's not worth it, Blaise. If he says he'll fix it, he will."

The two other boys were exchanging a long look, one that Draco, in his current state could not understand.

"You better," said Blaise, before both boys disappeared up the stairs again.

Draco methodically pieced together the bed. When he was finished, he summoned his longest, blackest robes.

When he was finished with the Glamour Charms on his face—and he had done a damn good job, at that—Draco was no longer seething. There was only silence and the quiet resolution that came with executing a plan.

He needed only a handful of Instant Darkness Powder, which he carefully gathered into a glass bottle. It wouldn't dim the lights in the common room completely—not like the stuff that he had found at the Weasley shop—but that was too precious and too good for this. When he was on the stairs, he loosed the powder and sent a wind at it. The powder puffed up and headed up the stairs. Darkness spread up the staircase towards the common room and, as he ascended the steps, he could see it had taken effect. The torches had dimmed to barely a glimmer. Little blue lights on the tips of wands illuminated the faces of their owners.

On the highest step, Draco stopped, knowing his figure was lit from behind, as if entering from a tunnel of light. "What's this," he said, his voice as high and eerie as he could make it. "A party of greatest wizards and witches, and the Dark Lord not even represented?"

He could see, by the pale light from their wands, the eyes fixed on his face. Draco knew his charms were good. Those in the room who had seen the Dark Lord before would have been afraid, for just a moment as Draco spoke, of what—or who—they might be seeing.

"When is the vote, Pansy?" Draco said quietly, in his own voice, though it still carried.

"Midnight," came the reply after a moment, from somewhere through the darkness where Draco couldn't see.

"I don't have the time to wait for midnight," said Draco shortly. "We'll vote now. I'll count. But then, there is only one wizard who can win such a contest, unless, of course, we have a Salazar Slytherin here?"

There was a silence as nobody stepped forward.

"Anyone not in favour of voting this pale imitation of the Dark Lord nonetheless the most impressive wizard 'through the ages?'"

Another silence.

"Good," said Draco. "Glad we're agreed."

He undid the spells on his person as he walked through the common room, saving his face for last. Grabbing Goyle—who had chosen Gifford Ollerton and was holding a giant axe—by the arm, he quickly exited the common room.

When they were outside, his heart began to pound and it was all Draco could do to keep walking, to walk faster, to leave it all behind.

"Library. Now," he managed to say to Goyle when his heart finally settled. "I'll help you study for O.W.L.S. and we'll summon your books if it comes to that."

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A/N: Hello everyone! Sorry for the long wait. Summer's been busy. Chapters will be short from here on out, I'm afraid, unless you'd rather wait two or three months for each one? (Leave me a note or PM me if you prefer that!) This actually has yet to be beta-d, so if you see anything you hate/errors, don't knock my beta singtoangels, who is excellent! (I like to send her "collected" chapters and I basically finished writing this part of this chapter... five minutes ago!) Hope you enjoyed it! -raa

DarkFairy8605: Oh yes, lioness is way too cliche. I think a some type of cat might fit too.

ordinary vamp: Er, not sure if this last one raised any questions. Hopefully, you don't think it's too slow? It occurs to me that people might find this old, even though I find it necessary.

LazyBum: Hello! No worries. I love reviews when I get them, but I'm happy just to know that you're reading. I am *one* short of 200 followers! Aaa! Sorry that this isn't a long chapter...but yeah I love the vision spell too. *sigh* wish I could do magic.

cloudyautumn: Hahaha, yeah, Entwhistle... he's a fun one to write. The Prestige! Aah Christopher Nolan. Now if only I could write like him...

bluepixiestix: Oh no! If you want to, you can point the passages out. I can take it. But yeah, I wrote the beginning chapters in a rush and I want to touch them up, but I also want to keep going. As for the curious reader part. Hmm. Yeah, it strikes me as odd too. I will get back to it... after I finish this chapter LOL. Thank you for the concrit and the review!

jerry: You, Jerry, are also an excellent strategist. Your review inspired me to push something out and post it! Thank you for the review, but don't worry if you hate reviewing. I don't expect it (though I love it!) and I swear, I'm quite friendly!


	14. The Project, Part II

A/N:I don't normally do author's notes at the beginning of chapters, but I'd like to clarify for anyone who is confused: I have not removed any of this story; I have simply combined short chapters into longer ones. Previously, I had been given to understand that readers preferred shorter chapters. The feedback I got indicated otherwise, and so I've reverted the format on this website to match what I have up on H&V. The exceptions are this chapter and the previous ones, which are shorter, to prevent the wait between updates from being too long. Thank you for your understanding. -raa

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**Chapter 12: The Project, Part II**

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_._

A few hours later, Draco and Goyle left the library in considerably better spirits than when they had arrived.

Right as they were coming to the main stairs, Draco felt a throb in his arm. A hot flash of fear passed through him: it was a summons. Goyle, with understanding that Draco realised must come from watching his own father being summoned, dragged Draco by the elbow into an empty classroom.

Draco watched, through lidded eyes, shivering on the floor, as Goyle dug around in a cabinet until he found a glass, waved his wand a few times until he got the Scourgify to work, and then another few times for the Aguamenti. The fear wore off slowly, and disbelief took its place. The Dark Lord knew he had no way out of the castle, with the Cabinet now forbidden for use. He could not have been called.

Goyle sat down heavily beside Draco, sloshing water over the both of them while doing so.

"Sorry," said Goyle, looking down.

"It's fine," said Draco, fumbling for his own wand. When he had a proper grip on it, he filled the glass again.

Goyle stared at the place the Mark would be if there hadn't been robes blocking his view. "Does it hurt?"

"What, right now? Or do you mean getting Marked?"

Goyle had to pause and think before he said, "Now. Before you have to … go."

"No," said Draco shortly, feeling done with this conversation already. It was unnerving, being handed a glass by Greg as if _Draco_ was the one who needed to be taken care of.

Goyle shifted against the wall, rubbing his large hands over his arms as if to warm himself. "My dad. He always freezes when it happens. Then Mum has to fetch him a glass of water."

Summons were different in Draco's house. Lucius would simply Disapparate and return a few moments later, in full Death Eater regalia, calling for Narcissa if she wasn't there already. Draco's parents would clasp hands and stand together in the foyer, eyes closed, foreheads and noses touching. One brief kiss, and then Lucius would draw his wand and Disapparate again, this time to wherever the Dark Lord was waiting.

Goyle started again, this time saying, "Do you think I'll pass three more O.W.L.S. this year? Dad says that You-Know-Who won't choose—"

"You don't want to be chosen."

"Oh," said Goyle, and Draco, feeling slightly livelier now, had to fill in the retort in his own head because he knew Goyle would not provide it.

_Of course you would say that,_ someone who was not Goyle might say, _but that's only because you already are one. What happens when the Dark Lord wins and his Death Eaters rule at his side?_

And Draco would answer, _But wouldn't it be better never to gain his notice in the frat place? Sure, there wouldn't be a chance for power … but at least you would be guaranteed to live. Probably._

But really, you were fucked either way. Not just because you would have to live with being nothing, but because even if you were effectively nothing, if your father or your aunt or mother fucked something up, you might be assigned a task anyway and Salazar save you then because then your life would be fucking hell until you finished it. And if you fucked up too then you could be comforted in knowing that your mother's life and your father's life and the lives of anyone else who cared about you, all of their lives, you just fucked those up too because you—

"Draco?"

Draco took a breath. "Yeah."

"So why were you … I mean …"

"Just say it, Greg."

"You said it doesn't hurt."

"No. It's just—" Draco stopped before he said something stupid that the Dark Lord might be able to see in Goyle's slow, open mind the next time he saw him.

The next time.

Another hot flash of fear passed through Draco's chest, neck and shoulders. He had imitated the Dark Lord's walk, and his voice … _Mordred save his soul, for he had none_, what in _Merlin's_ name had he, Draco, been thinking? It would be taken as a mockery.

When the worst of the panic had passed, or so he thought, Draco reached for the glass of water, tremors still traveling up his arm, but he barely picked it up when the fear took hold of him again. His fingers refused to respond, his blood roared in his ears, and all Draco could see was the glass, shattered in front of him, though he had not seen it fall from his hand, had not heard it meet the ground with that hollow clang, and had not noticed when, cracking, a hundred small pieces of it scartered across the floor.

He hadn't been this afraid since he nearly killed that Bell girl with the necklace.

"Come on," said Goyle, after what seemed a long time. There was a large-palmed hand in front of Draco's face. Draco grabbed at it, felt the strain on his arm as Goyle pulled him up, and then stumbled along blindly behind Goyle. Somewhere in the middle of the dungeons, Draco began to feel more himself again, as if the cool air chilling the sweat on his face had somehow made its way into his formerly panicked mind. As they passed Snape's office, Draco suddenly knew that his teacher was waiting for him.

"Go on," said Draco, pushing Goyle towards the common room. "I have work to do tonight."

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It was quiet in the common room. A few empty mugs and the paper wrapping of several Weasley Wizard Wheezes products were strewn across the floor, the remnants of the party that had come and gone before Hermione returned from the library.

In front of the fire sat Ron and Harry. Harry's head snapped around with the sound of the portrait door shutting, and he jumped up when he saw it was Hermione, only to suddenly sit down again, glancing guiltily at Ron.

They had been pretending, she and Harry, in the past few days, that she had never gotten upset with him. When Harry was with Ron, she pretended not to see either of them, and when Harry was alone, she talked with him idly of Dumbledore or Quidditch or schoolwork.

So she crept past them, pretending not to see them.

When she got to the dormitory, both Lavender and Parvati were there, sitting on Parvati's bed with a tea set between them. Parvati was leaning against the wall, her feet dangling just off the edge of the bed, while Lavender sat cross-legged beside her, clutching tightly at Parvati's cup while her own lay forgotten at her side.

"—just an accident, Parvati! You know that sometimes these things—"

"I'm telling you, Lav, I've seen it before! It's an old Indian symbol of magic! Padma and I used to have this book of Indian wizarding stories—"

"What symbol?" said Hermione, before she could stop herself.

Parvati blinked and hesitated, but patted the empty spot on the bed beside her. "Come look at this, Hermione." She tried to take the cup back from the spot Lavender, who, instead of bursting into tears or hissing angrily into Parvati's ear as she often did when Parvati showed signs of wanting to reconcile with Hermione, simply tightened her grip on the cup in her hands and refused to let it go.

"Come on, Lav," said Pavarti, and Lavender, who Hermione could now see was trying very hard indeed to hide her frightened demeanour from Parvati, unclenched her hands, letting Parvati take the cup, and flexed her whitened fingers before folding them together tightly.

There had been other times when her two roommates, especially Parvati, who Hermione had to admit sometimes made Divination make sense, would show her odd things that they had found. Eggs which cracked in just the right way, their yolks seeming to defy gravity as they fell, and orbs where shapes really did seem visible inside. But this was something else entirely. The leaves in Parvati's cup were arranged in a clear pattern: an equilateral triangle with an incircle split down the middle by a straight line.

"What do you think?" said Parvati, after it became clear Hermione wasn't going to offer an opinion.

"I don't know," said Hermione, though it pained her to say it. She had never even see that symbol before. She sat down cautiously on the edge of Parvati's bed. When she saw that neither girl was going to raise an objection, Hermione slid farther into the bed, so she too was leaning against the wall.

"I don't know what to think either," said Parvati. "Hermione, it was the oddest thing. One moment, I was brewing the tea over there by my desk, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting here, with both tea cups in front of me. But Lavender says—"

"There was nothing abnormal about it," said Lavender, who was rolling up her scroll tightly, letting it unroll, and then repeating the action. "You just poured the tea."

"What's in the other one?" said Hermione, reaching across the bed for the other cup.

"That one's mine," said Lavender, placing her hand over the cup's top. "You don't—"

"And _I_ poured it," said Parvati, softly. "Lav…"

Lavender went silent, but she took her hand off the teacup, and Parvati handed it over carefully.

Hermione's breath caught when she looked inside. The leaves were perfectly arranged on only one side of the cup, a split. She remembered this one; it was the sign for change.

"We all know what _this_ means," said Parvati. "But this other one…" She picked up the first cup again.

"You said you'd seen it before," said Hermione. "In a storybook."

"Yes."

"I've had enough of this," declared Lavender. "In any case, _Firenze_ always said that wizarding methods of Divination are imprecise and likely just superstition. I'm going to bed." She slid off Parvati's bed and went to her own bunk, drawing the curtains.

Parvati stared after Lavender before giving Hermione an apologetic look. "Later," she mouthed.

Hermione felt sour at the sudden end to their discussion, but she nodded and clambered off Parvati's bed. When she had climbed onto her bed, she drew her own curtains and sat silently, staring at the heavy red fabric.

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* * *

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Nobody came to answer the office door. Draco tested the door and was surprised when the knob turned and he was suddenly stepping into Snape's office. The lights were out, and it was only with a start that Draco recognised his professor, standing in the darkness with his Death Eater robes and mask already in place, his hooked nose and poised, still presence the only giveaways to his identity.

"You are late," said Snape.

"I haven't—"

"No excuses," said Snape. "We've the farthest to go as is. I'm glad you're dressed. Where is your mask?"

Before Draco could answer, a mask appeared in his hand.

"There isn't any time," said Snape. With that, Snape took a hold of Draco's arm and led him instead in the direction of the Kitchens. When they had passed the painting with the pear and walked into a dead end, Snape tapped a series of stones, forming a giant 'S' in the wall there. The stones shifted out, forming a passageway.

Draco followed Snape in, wand lit, and waited for the stones to seal shut before saying, "Where are we? Where does this lead?"

"Hogsmeade." Snape flicked his wand and ghostly lights formed, more grey smoke than light at all, one by one lighting a dark, curving corridor. It was filled with an unnatural-looking, smoky haze.

"Come," said Snape. His pace, once he set off, was brisk.

With a deep breath, Draco followed. Snape's brusk manner tonight was unsettling, to say the least, but he had no choice now, no matter what he had thought last night; Snape had to be trusted.

"Why didn't we use this before?" Draco asked after they had been walking for a long time, nearly half an hour.

Snape held a finger to his lips. They had reached another stone wall. Snape listened for what seemed a long time, and then, satisfied, he made the same 'S' as before and the stones reformed, into a series of steps that led upwards for what seemed an eternity. He gestured for Draco to go first.

"We are below a shop in Hogsmeade," said Snape quietly as Draco walked past him.

It was suddenly dimmer; Snape had put out the lights in the corridor. They walked up the steps in silence and Draco was shocked to find himself in the Madame Puddifoot's men's room when they emerged.

Snape opened a small, high window and—Draco could not believe his eyes—melted into a black smoke, his form appearing on the other side. "Madame Puddifoot's has an Anti-Disapparition Jinx," said Snape when Draco raised his own wand for Apparition.

So, with a little help from his wand, Draco managed to clamber ungracefully onto the windowsill and, sticking his legs through, jump out. Before Draco had even regained his balance, Snape, who had been putting a Glamour in front of the window to make it appear shut, grabbed Draco's sleeve, and they were gone.

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A/N: Hello, my dear readers. I have now become one of those apologizing fanfic authors that I vowed not to become. I hope this tides you over until the next part of the chapter; I know this is a slow-moving fic and I appreciate, as always, your continued reading and patience with the story. I'd like to extend my gratitude, as always, to my beta singtoangels, even as I say that she has not looked at this chapter because I write really slowly and I want to send her completed chapters. Still, this story would be in much worse shape if she hadn't looked over chapters 9, 10, and 11 for me. In any case, I hope summer is going well! -raaa


	15. The Project, Part III

**Chapter 12, continued: The Project, Part III**

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Hermione pushed at the claws, which, even through blankets, hurt a little.

"Crookshanks," she said, finally sitting up. "What are you doing?"

Crookshanks jumped off her and through the place her curtains met. Sighing, Hermione summoned a pair of socks and her slippers. She slid one side of the curtains back to look for where Crookshanks might have gone.

An unhappy-looking Parvati was standing right in front of Hermione's bed.

"Lav's asleep," Parvati wrote with her wand in the air, white ribbons shooting out the end and forming letters before gathering on the floor. "But I need to talk to you."

"You didn't seem so eager before," muttered Hermione, but she slid off her bed, pulling her blanket around her, and followed Parvati back to her bed, where the tea cups were still sitting in the centre. Parvati lifted both cups a little gingerly, clearly afraid to disturb the leaves inside, and, with a guilty glance at Lavender's bed, headed down to the common room.

The common room was empty. It was a little cleaner than before, and Harry, Ron, and hoop had all disappeared. They chose the same sofa that Harry had occupied when Hermione came through, as it was nearest the fire.

"I know you don't believe in Divination, Hermione," began Parvati nervously, twisting at her braid again when they had sat down. "I—well, I don't know what I think, but tonight I…" Parvati look intently at Hermione, as if she was afraid to say more.

"You said you didn't remember pouring the tea? Does that happen often?" Hermione tried to remember. Hadn't Harry said that Trelawney didn't remember a thing from her own prophecy—not even the making of it? Then again, Trelawney hadn't been in the middle of anything when she made the prophecy, and apparently, Parvarti had been pouring tea.

"Of course not! I'm not crazy, you know," said Parvati. "It's never happened before, but it felt …. When I looked into the cups, Hermione, I just knew that they meant something. But Lav seems to think … well, she won't hear another word for some reason."

"You said that you'd seen that symbol before."

Parvati looked a little relieved that Hermione was interested. Nodding, she said, "It was one of our favourite stories, mine and Padma's, when we were growing up."

After a long pause, Hermione, realising that Parvati was waiting for her to express interest yet again, said, "Well, how does the story go?"

"You know, I think I have it—an version in English—somewhere. Wait! Let me go get it."

Parvati dashed up the stairs and was back two minutes later. She thumbed to right page quickly and was about to thrust it out to Hermione when she hesitated. "You sure you don't want a summary?"

Hermione laughed. "You know I love books," she said.

Parvati, smiling a little, scooted over so they could share the book, and Hermione leaned in so she could catch the words on the left page.

_Long ago, long before there was magic, _the story began,_ three brothers set out on a journey seeking an answer to a question they had been told could not be answered. After many years and many trials, they came one evening to to the bank of the Indus, and the only way across was in the boat of a old man, whose face was aged but timeless, free of wrinkles._

_The old man asked where they were headed. When he found out what they were looking for, his face took on a grave expression, and he offered them riches and palaces to give up their quest. There was a quiet authority to his offer that made the brothers believe, wholly, that it was within his power to grant such a thing. But they refused._

_Next, the old man pointed downstream to a beautiful woman who was walking along the riverbank, the most beautiful woman the brothers had ever seen, and offered them the chance to marry this woman and her sisters if they gave up their quest. Again, the brothers were tempted, but still they refused._

_Finally, the old man offered them eternal life and youth in return for giving up their quest._

_At this, the eldest brother, angered, said, "Why do you offer such a thing? It is not yours to grant. And even if it were, we refuse."_

"Wait," Hermione said, feeling a little slow for not having realised it, "is this a fairy tale?"

"A fairy tale?" Parvati repeated, blankly.

"You know, a story with magical creatures and all those"—Hermione suddenly felt even more stupid. Of course there would be magical creatures in a wizarding fairy tale. She quickly revised her sentence—"morals. For children, you know."

Parvati nodded. "Mum used to read it to us, from a book."

Hermione nodded, pulling the book a little closer to continue reading.

_The old man looked to the two younger brothers, who both affirmed that they, too, would refuse. He smiled and bowed, and turned to his boat, apparently making to leave. The brothers looked at each other, and sighing, decided to wander along the bank until they came upon another boat. When they had turned away from the river, they were met with a strong light, so that they were forced to look away. Out of the glow stepped the very same ferryman, but though his face was still smooth, now it shined with health, and he looked much, much younger._

_"Three brothers, three tests," the man said. "Tell me, travellers, what do you seek?"_

_"Who are you?" said the eldest brother warily, for this man had power that none of them had ever seen._

_"But the man, instead of answering, merely held out his hand, his palm facing upwards. "I know what you seek, and I can help you," he said._

_"What we seek," said the second brother, '"no man can give us."_

_The ferryman stepped forward, and suddenly, he was the long-haired beauty who had been walking along the bank. "I am no man," she assured them._

_"We were warned," said the third brother, "when we began our journey that what we sought could not be given us."_

_"And so it cannot," said the wind, for the man had disappeared, and in his stead was only the solitary boat, bobbing on the water. "It must be taken."_

Hermione had reached the end of the second page, and she waited for Parvati to catch up, wondering where exactly this story was going. When Parvati reached to turn the page, Hermione blurted out, "Is that a common beginning?"

"Hmm?"

"Long before there was magic—is that a common beginning?"

Parvati gave Hermione an odd look. "That's how all the stories start," she said.

"Right," said Hermione.

_"The brothers entered the boat, as finally, they had been offered passage, and there in the boat, while rowing across, surrounded on all sides by the waters of the Indus, they found the source of magic, which had been the object of their quest. The brothers rejoiced, and when they reached the other side, they tried to take the magic away with them._

_But the magic would not budge, no matter how hard they tried. Finally, the eldest brother stepped forward, saying, "This magic is just power. We are not powerful enough and that is why it will not budge. We must practice." He stepped forward, fingers concentrating on the magic, and out from it he drew a single slender branch, which thrummed._

"Wait," said Hermione. "How do they just find magic? And how is magic just supposed to—"

"Hermione," said Parvati, in the same sort of tone she used on Lavender all the time.

Hermione sighed. "All right, I won't ask anymore questions.

_But still the magic existed. So the second brother stepped forward, and he said, "This magic exists here, but also, should we seek it, within us." And when he stepped back, his very person seemed to shimmer in the light._

_And still the magic existed. So the third brother stepped forward, and to the magic he said, "There is no beginning and no end to you, though I perceive one, for you are infinite." And when he stepped forward to the magic, there was a flash, and suddenly both he and the magic could no longer be seen._

_The wind returned and the boat which had borne the three brothers forward drifted out into the middle of the river, until the two remaining brothers could no longer make out its form through the fog. They stood there a long time, waiting for their brother, but he did not return._

_In the morning, the two remaining brothers awoke to blinding sunlight, and a voice that could have been the wind. "Go, my brothers. One to the West, and the other to the East, and bring what you have taken with you," the voice said._

_Still the brothers stayed, trying to make out shapes in the fog. Then each of them felt a curious, cold finger at their cheeks and heard the whispered words: We will meet again._

_And so they journeyed on._

Hermione shook her head when she had finished, trying to shake the rhythmic quality of the sentences from her head so she could think.

Suddenly, Hermione realised that Parvati had finished as well. Turning to Parvati, she said, "So what—"

"Don't you see?" said Parvati eagerly the moment Hermione had started talking. "It's the three branches of magical existence in Eurasia—the wand magic of Europe, the study of Qi of China, and the path to enlightenment in India."

"So," said Hermione slowly, processing, "you put the symbols one over the other to get—"

"—a symbol of the history and the very existence of magic," said Parvati, eyes shining.

"And it would appear in your cup because—"

Parvati lifted the other cup. "Something's changing," she said. "Maybe magic itself."

"But that doesn't make any sense!" exclaimed Hermione. "Magic's constant! It's always—"

"Surely you don't believe that, Hermione," said Parvati. "All that European faux-history about pure-bloods and—"

"Of course I don't believe that, but I know that magic is—"

"It had to start somewhere," said Parvati impatiently. "But it doesn't matter. So it's an old story, told to children. Maybe it doesn't explain exactly why magic is practiced differently in different regions of the world. It's still a sign and Hermione, I swear, when I looked in the cups—"

"—you knew it had to mean something," Hermione finished for her. Though she hated Harry and the way he acted on his gut instincts, she had to confess, she understood that urge in this case.

From the look in Parvati's eyes, she could see what Parvati wanted. Hermione nodded slowly in assent, saying, "We'll make a project of it. I'll do some research and get back to you."

Parvati darted forward and gave Hermione a hug. "I'm sorry about Lav," she said quietly. "She's still going through a hard time, you know. I think sometimes she's jealous that I've got Padma. Wants someone of her own, you know."

Hermione could understand that. She wanted someone of her own, too.

Parvati continued on, "But tell me if I'm right. You don't actually fancy him anymore."

"I—" Hermione looked guiltily towards the boys' dormitories. "I don't know," she confessed. "I thought I wanted it for so long. But now…"

"Is there someone else?" said Parvati, smiling.

"As if," Hermione replied with a self-deprecating smile as they crept back up to their room.

But later, when she was once again lying in bed, Hermione considered the question more closely. Ginny had said Terry Boot might fancy her, and Hermione could see that, now. He had been flirting with her during Defence all this year, trying to partner up with her when they split into pairs. There was even the time he had imitated Ron saying "git", rolling his eyes with a wink when Malfoy had called him a fop.

Hermione sat up, feeling that she had happened upon something, but lay down a moment later. She pulled her blankets up higher, willing to sleep to come, but what seemed like half an hour later, she had to scoot to the other half of her bed, which was cooler.

It explained everything—and nothing. She already had reasons for everything. Malfoy had been curious about the Prince, Pansy was just jealous by nature, and wasn't it Astoria who Malfoy had been after? But it also fit: Why would Malfoy be curious about her? Why would Pansy be jealous of her? And if it was Astoria who Malfoy was after, wouldn't they already be together?

Still. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be true.

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* * *

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It was Wormtail who let them into the Manor, and at the look on the man's face, Draco wondered how exactly Snape had scared Wormtail in the past.

They were late enough as to have missed the general meeting, but a good portion of the Death Eaters remained, milling about in the hallways and large sitting rooms on the first floor. A few—newer recruits, no doubt—wore their masks.

Draco and Snape were led through the crowd into the library, and when Wormtail had gone and the appropriate privacy charms put up, the Dark Lord said, from an armchair before the fire, "Yes, Severus. You have brought him, I see."

Snape bowed. "My Lord."

The Dark Lord lifted one pale, elegant hand and curled his fingers in the slightest bit. "Come here, Draco."

Draco bowed and approached slowly.

"If he isn't your exact image, Lucius," said the Dark Lord to Draco's parents, who were sitting silently by a few of the other Death Eaters nearer the door. "Sit, Draco, sit." A casual gesture of with his other bony hand, so elegantly placed on his wand, and a split second later, an armchair had formed from seemingly nothing. "Severus tells me you've been working very, very hard."

Draco suppressed the nervous urge to clear his throat. "Yes, I have… my Lord."

The Dark Lord, who had paused before Draco filled in the appropriate address at the end of the sentence, nodded and turned his attention back to the fire. "Has Severus explained the finalised details for you?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And what do you think of the plan?" said the Dark Lord.

"I … like it very much," said Draco carefully, making sure to think each word loudly and slowly.

The Dark Lord, who was examining Draco with an intensity that Draco had not experienced since he was first Marked and given his task, suddenly gave a high and piercing laugh. "Why, Lucius, how accomplished he is. Bella, is this your work?"

But before Bella could answer, the Dark Lord had just as suddenly stopped laughing. He said, "Of course, his Occlumentic powers could be your work, too, Lucius. Your loyalty has not always been constant, and no doubt the boy shares your sentiments…"

Draco schooled his face, trying hard not to think about the Dark Lord's laugh and how much it scared him.

The Dark Lord said, sounding amused once again, "Still, he may yet redeem your family. Away, all of you. I wish to talk to the boy alone."

Snape made a sudden gesture from behind Draco, but he was waved off by the Dark Lord.

"I said, _alone,_ Severus."

Draco turned to look at his teacher, who was giving him an inscrutable look. He slid his eyes off Snape to his father, who gave him a tight nod.

He dropped his eyes, but something, a sixth sense perhaps, made him look towards the door one last time before it shut. His mother was standing right at the entrance, and when their eyes met, she straightened just a little more, though she always stood straight and proud, and tilted her chin up, as she had done for years when she caught his eyes from across the room at the parties they attended. _You are a Malfoy, and no one will ever take that away from you._

Draco sat a little straighter, and his mother, seeing this, bowed and closed the door.

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A/N: This chapter is turning out to be a monster. It grows and grows! Many thanks to singtoangels, who looked over this and made wonderful comments as usual. Thank you also to Lazy Bum for the review! -raa

Guest: It is still a romance, in the sense that one of the central plot themes is how Hermione and Draco fall for each other. I removed the "romance" genre label because I was afraid it would mislead people into thinking that was the only thing that would happen in this story.


	16. The Project, Part IV

**The Project, Part IV**

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For the second time tonight, Hermione was awakened by sharp claws traveling up her torso.

"Crookshanks!" she said, sitting up. "You can't—"

But Crookshanks, once again, had leapt off her bed. So Hermione, sighing, felt around on the ground with her feet for her slippers before crawling through her curtains into the cold air of their dormitory. She pulled her blanket off the bed, wrapped it around her, and followed Crookshanks, who was already on the last flight of the stairs, the one which led to the fifth years' room.

Yes, it would be good to talk to Ginny. Besides, Ginny probably wanted to know if Hermione and Harry had made up at all. Well, that would be a disappointment for her.

The fifth-year girls were still up, from the looks of it, and had been playing some sort of drinking game with some of the underclassmen, who were scattered about the room trying to hide their drinks. The fifth-year prefect jumped up guiltily when Hermione made an entrance. "Sorry, Hermione," she said. "I was just—"

"It's fine," said Hermione hurriedly, suddenly wishing that her reputation as the only rule-enforcing Gryffindor prefect (well, since Percy anyway) wouldn't follow her everywhere. "I was just following Crooks here."

"Crooks?" said Demelza, reaching a hand out to Crookshanks, who looked surprisingly content as she stroked his fur. "What an odd and perfect name." The fifth-year prefect quickly ducked down to stroke Crookshanks' fur too.

Ginny, who was playing with Arnold, set him down next to Crookshanks and went to her desk, scrounging around before grabbing her wand and pointing it at the ground. Some of the empty bottles vanished.

Hermione stood awkwardly, watching the other girls all croon over Crookshanks as they tried to avoid her gaze, most likely thinking she would break up the party at any moment.

Crookshanks had reached out a tender paw to Arnold, who rolled away, humming. Hermione bent to pick Arnold up. "Can't believe Fred actually used Ron's Puffskein for Bludger practice," she said absentmindedly, stroking Arnold's fur, which was softer than Crookshanks'.

Ginny laughed. "Oh, is that what Ron told you?"

"I asked Fred once, too, actually," said Hermione. "He said it was true."

Fred had actually looked at Ron before laughing and saying that he couldn't remember, but that it seemed likely.

"Well," said Ginny acidly, "looks like Fred's got more tact than Ron. But who knows. Maybe if Ron had used his Puffskein for practice, he'd be a better Keeper."

"Oh, stop it," said Demelza. "So it was a bad practice. But don't be so hard on him. I'd hate to play Keeper too. It's so stressful."

"He wanted to play Keeper," said Hermione. "If he didn't think—"

"Let's talk about something else, shall we?" said a tart voice from behind Demelza, and Hermione realised with a start that Romilda Vane and a few of the fourth-year girls were curled up in a bed there, sharing a thick magazine. Romilda held the magazine up, letting it flap thickly. "We've found a quiz. '_Which witch does your fashion suggest you'll become?'_ The end results are: Cliodna, Circe, Morgau—"

"I don't want to do that one," said Demelza. "Can't we do one of those 'Which Ministry Department should you work for?' quizzes?"

Crookshanks, who was no longer the centre of attention, returned to Hermione, pawing at her. She bent down to pick him up, but then thought better of it and just sat down next to him. "We can do both," Hermione suggested. "It's Saturday anyway."

"Right," said Ginny, into the stunned silence that followed Hermione's suggestion. "Well, I think that calls for some more food. Cresswell, do you have some more butterbeer? I'll handle the snacks."

"I don't think we should have anymore butterb—" Hermione said, untangling herself from Crookshanks and standing up again.

"Lighten up, Hermione," said Ginny, with a pointed look: _You decided to stay. Now deal with it._

Hermione sighed. "Right, but, Cresswell"—she looked around for the girl in question, as she didn't actually know her—"no more firewhisky. There are too many underclassmen here."

One of the girls sitting by Romilda, a tall girl with straight brown hair and a solid sort of look about her, jumped off the bunk. "Got it," she said. "Save the quiz till we come back, Mil."

Ginny and Cresswell headed out of the room, but Ginny stopped at the door. "You coming, Herms-Herms?" she said with a wicked grin. "Think I'll need some help."

The girls erupted into giggles (and whispered _Won-Wons_ and _Lav-Lavs_) at the nickname as Hermione, feeling much cheered at the joke, nodded and followed Ginny out of the room.

Ginny pressed something into her hands when they were halfway down the stairs. A crinkled piece of paper. "From Harry," she whispered. "He wants to talk but Ron's got him helping with Apparition every moment he can get."

"You sent Crookshanks," said Hermione, after scanning the paper.

"Yeah," grinned Ginny, starting the stairs. "It must be nice, having an intelligent familiar. Arnold … well he's not the brightest."

"He's also not technically a familiar," said Hermione. "Anyway, where'd you store the rest of the food? I thought we'd cleaned out the stores in the common room—"

Ginny gave her another mischievous grin. "The Kitchens, of course."

"Ginny! You could get—"

"There's a passageway from our common room right down to the portrait," said Ginny. "Surely Fred must have—"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't allow it and I certainly can't help."

"You don't have to," said Ginny. She pointed at the door they were passing, which was the door to Hermione's room. "Go on, Herms-Herms. If I'm going for more food, I want everyone to partake."

Hermione started. "But they're barely talking to me. Just tonight—"

"Which is why you should be the one to invite them," said Ginny.

But just as Hermione was about to open the door, Ginny placed a warning hand on her shoulder. "Don't," she whispered. "Someone's crying in there."

Sure enough, someone was. Hermione pressed her ear to the door and could make out Parvati talking in a low voice as someone—that had to be Lavender—sniffled.

Hermione backed away from the door. She and Ginny, after exchanging a silent glance, walked down the steps in silence.

"Well, I can just wait here," said Hermione lamely when they had reached the empty common room.

"Just come with me. It'll be fast, and I could really use a hand. The girls are hungry."

"Ginny…"

Ginny made a puppy face and held it for a moment before cracking up. "Please?" she said when she had recovered.

Hermione sighed. "I—"

"Great!" Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand, turned towards a portrait of an intimidating old wizard seated at a table, and, tickling the tiny pair inside a bowl of fruit next to him, pulled Hermione into the dark staircase which was revealed.

.

* * *

"So."

All the confidence that his mother had just instilled in him fled with that one hissed word. Draco sat straight in his chair, stiff, staring at the Dark Lord's hand, which rested upon the chair with a bony, elegant grace.

"Now that we are alone, let me ask you again, Draco. What do you think of the plan?"

The Dark Lord had suspected him of hiding secrets before, so Draco had to change his story, somewhat. "I…am not completely aware of all the details," he admitted. "Professor Snape has been—"

"You are all equals in my eyes," the Dark Lord said, eyes gleaming, catching with some meaning that Draco did not understand. "Call him Severus, but go on."

"Severus," said Draco slowly, tasting the name on his lips, the hissing quality of it, "has been helpful to me, but secrecy is in his nature."

The Dark Lord smiled, and there was a certain deadly malice contained in the curve of his thin lips. "How very like your father you are. Diplomacy becomes you."

Draco dipped his head, not knowing what to say.

"You have eyes where I can send no one else, at the moment," said the Dark Lord softly. "I assigned you your task precisely because nobody else can be trusted to do it."

Shocked, Draco looked up. What about Snape?

It was a mistake; the Dark Lord was waiting, and as Draco's eyes met his, there was suddenly a push at his mind.

He resisted, but there was no hope. He had never felt power like this. Far too easily, Draco gave in.

_He was trying to ask Snape questions about the corridor they were in, but instead Snape just pushed onward … He was pushing the door into Snape's office, and Snape was standing there, hooded in the darkness … He was staring into the heavy curtains hanging around his bed, wondering how anyone could ever trust Snape._

"So you do have questions," said the Dark Lord, withdrawing suddenly. "Good, good."

Draco felt chilled at the withdrawal of the presence in his mind. He hunched over and coughed.

"Poor boy," said the Dark Lord. "Bella is very talented, but a few weeks could never have protected you. Still … tell me, Draco. Why did you agree to kill Dumbledore?"

"I desire nothing more than to serve you, my—"

The Dark Lord waved a dismissive hand. "I could pull the true reasons from your mind in an instant. I never liked your father, Draco, even when I thought he was capable of carrying out tasks—I have, of course, since learned better—because his silver tongue rarely told truth."

"My father—"

"Your father thought that he could have glory at my side," said the Dark Lord softly, the quiet only emphasising the disdain there.

Draco sat up. "So do I," he said, with fervour that all of a sudden he knew would be believed. The confidence rushed back into him as he poured conviction into the lies, the lies he had not known were lies until he began to spout them. _I am a Malfoy,_ he thought. _Lying with a straight face and a presence of mind to boot? It runs in my blood, and no one, not even you, the Dark Lord, can take that away from me._ "I am a pure-blood who can trace my roots all the way back to Merlin. You are the only wizard since Grindelwald who has had a viable chance at re-establishing the old, right ways, and the only wizard ever who can actually achieve it."

The Dark Lord was looking at Draco with an odd, hungry expression, as if he wished to devour the words Draco was saying. Draco took comfort from this and continued, "My father is not wrong to believe that there is glory to be had by your side. He is not the only one, either. My uncles Rodolphus and Rabastan are as hungry as they come. Yaxley, Dolohov! Even Sna—Severus wants it, too!"

"So that is your opinion of Severus," said the Dark Lord, whose face had assumed a smile again, and Draco did not know if he could no longer detect the malice because he had already become accustomed to it or because he was too nervous and wound to detect it.

"Yes," said Draco, with resolution.

"Then," said the Dark Lord, lifting his wand, "the ninth of June." A ghostly calendar appeared in the air, with a box highlighted. "This is the date, Draco. Remember it, but do not speak of it. Nine is a magically powerful number, don't you think? Almost as powerful as seven."

Draco rose and bowed. "Thank you, my Lord. I will try my hardest not to disappoint."

"Oh, I know you will," said the Dark Lord, laughing softly. "Otherwise your mother and father … will be very disappointed."

Draco took in the meaning of the words silently.

The Dark Lord snapped his fingers, with an energy Draco found unsettling. It was if the threat he had just made had made him happier. "Yes, let us see. Rowle. Yaxley. The Carrows. Gibbon and Avery. Send them in."

Draco bowed again.

"Oh and Draco"—the Dark Lord rose as he said these words. It always shocked Draco, just how tall the Dark Lord was—"when you are about to make the kill, just remember: the glory could be yours, too. You need only take it."

.

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A/N: Surprise update! Thank you to singtoangels, my beta, for her awesome advice, as always! (: Hope your weeks are going well -raa


	17. The Project, Part V

**The Project, Part V**.

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Draco knew, after he had sent the appropriate Death Eaters to see the Dark Lord, that he was not up to a night sitting with the most powerful Death Eaters in the drawing room. The meeting with the Dark Lord had drained him, and he retreated into one of the smaller sitting rooms, hoping for some silence.

Wormtail was there, teeth chattering and hands rubbing at his arms.

"I didn't realise there was someone here," said Draco, making to duck out the doorway again.

"Oh, no. Pl-please," said Pettigrew, giving Draco a sickening smile. "This is your home."

Draco flopped down into a large armchair.

"What did the Dark Lord—"

"Nothing," Draco said shortly, cutting Pettigrew off.

"Then the p-private audience—"

"He just likes to scare me."

Pettigrew gave a nervous laugh, but his eyes were beady and sharp. "There were hints to-tonight at the general meeting that there's something big coming and I thought that you, being … your father's son, might know something of it."

"I missed the meeting, as you know," said Draco.

Pettigrew rose from his own seat and came to stand beside Draco. "Sw-sweet Draco. You look so much like your father—when we were at school, he was always kind to me—a true friend."

"My father hardly remembers Potter's father as the ace Chaser on the Gryffindor team. I doubt he remembers you at all," interrupted Draco, this interaction reminding him just why everyone treated Wormtail so. It had been a long time since summer, when Draco had watched Wormtail hide away time after time, afraid of everyone and everything. Pettigrew was so pathetic, it almost encouraged meanness.

"I was curious to know," said Wormtail, "how you and Se-Seve-Severus came to the Manor tonight. Normally, he is much more timely."

Was that right? Draco had been late to see Snape, but not that late.

"If you were detained in trying to leave the castle un-undetected," said Wormtail, moving even closer, "there is a secret passageway into the castle."

"You've already told me that," said Draco, scowling. "Through the Shrieking—"

"No," said Wormtail, in what he must have thought was a whisper. Little flecks of spit flew in front of Draco's face. "Into the castle, not onto the grounds. There's a path from the cellar of Honeydukes."

"Honeydukes?" said Draco, his voice louder than intended.

Wormtail nodded vigorously. "Yes, it leads to Gunhilda's corridor; to access it from the castle, you need only tap the witch's hump and cast, _Dissendium_."

Yet another way right into the castle that Draco had not known of until tonight. Which begged the question: why hadn't Snape told him of the passageway to Madame Puddifoot's before? All that work on the Cabinets for nothing. Like his work on Granger. And this whole godforsaken task. All of it had been for naught.

"So did you find that passageway with your friends, too?" said Draco sourly, after a moment.

Wormtail looked a little crestfallen.

"Fat lot of good it'll do us, then." Draco stood abruptly. This had been the wrong room to come into; all Pettigrew had done was raise more questions. He sneered at Pettigrew, who looked more than a little hurt, and left the room before another word could be said.

.

* * *

.

He was last, as usual, and there was no doubt his audience with the Dark Lord would be longest of all. There wasn't much longer to wait now; Bellatrix had been called in after the Dark Lord asked for the brothers Lestrange alone. It was as much a mark of Bella's ability as it was her devotion that she had risen above her own husband in the Dark Lord's eyes.

There was a discontent expression on Bellatrix's face when she returned to the drawing room. She looked about and quickly walked over to Narcissa, who had only just returned to the room herself, looking strained and tired. Bellatrix, who had always walked like she owned the world, even managed the sit in an imperious manner. "You're next," she said, sneering in Severus' direction.

Severus gave an ironic bow as he headed to the library. "Bellatrix, always a pleasure."

The Dark Lord was standing by the fire when Severus entered the library.

"Severus," he said. "I've chosen a date."

"My Lord?"

"The nineteenth of June, the night of the Leaving Feast. I have told the others. I will choose the team. You will supervise. Do not fail me."

Severus bowed.

The Dark Lord waved a hand at the chair he had produced out of thin air. "Sit. We have other things to discuss."

.

* * *

The look on the Dark Lord's face was murderous when he discovered that Draco had impersonated him at the party. But it was for your glory, Draco had argued, to no avail. It was true, and the other Slytherin students had been tortured first for their failures too, but now it was Draco's turn and—oh!—the pain. The curse was sudden and red, and it had hit in the centre of Draco's chest, shaking him.

Twisting on the ground, Draco caught sight of Snape, standing still, face impassive, and his father beside him. Do something, he wanted to say as he clutched at his left arm, which was on fire, with little needles pricking at his Dark Mark. But his chest and throat vibrated with pain, and there was no room for words. When he turned again towards where his father had been, Pettigrew stood there instead, his normally obsequious manner somehow hardened and cruel, as if he was rejoicing in Draco's pain. _Crucio,_ the Dark Lord cried, and again, everything shook.

Draco awoke in a sweat.

Narcissa was sitting at the side of his bed; she had shaken him awake. "Severus just finished meeting with the Dark Lord," she said. "He's waiting for you downstairs."

"Right." Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had fallen asleep in his robes. There was nothing like his own bed, in his own room. "Do I have to go?" he said, even as he sat up resignedly.

Narcissa waited as Draco ironed out a few of the creases in his robe with his wand. When he had finished, she walked forward and, rising up on her tiptoes, gave him a kiss on his forehead. "Get some sleep when you get back, Draco. Your father and I … We're very proud."

.

* * *

If Snape had been brusque before the meeting, he was positively rude on the way back. The moment the Manor's front door closed behind them, the Potions Master's smooth comportment dropped and was replaced by a brooding, abrupt manner.

When they had Apparated back to Hogsmeade, Draco refused, point-blank, to enter Madame Puddifoot's again without having some questions answered. "You didn't tell me what the plan is," he said, loudly, hoping to attract attention. "I covered—"

He was Petrified and Disillusioned in the next moment, facing upwards and looking into the cloudless sky where a large almost-full, very yellow moon hung. The window drifted closer and Draco realised he was being levitated through the open window. A few moments later, a black amorphous shape landed softly beside him.

The shape become Snape, who stole a glance behind him, sealed the window, and opened the corridor into the castle again.

When they were, by Draco's estimation, halfway back to the castle, Draco landed with a thud on the ground, suddenly freed from his Petrification.

"You—"

"Not another word," said Snape, quiet but deadly. "You are reckless, Draco."

"You owe me an—"

"The nineteenth of June. You will go to the Room of Requirement and let in a set of Death Eaters that have yet to be chosen. You will send a Death Mark into the sky from the Astronomy Tower and wait there for Dumbledore. When he arrives, as he will, you will have your chance."

Draco almost opened his mouth to say, _No, it's the ninth_, but stopped, remembering the Dark Lord's orders.

"Questions?"

Draco wanted to ask if the Dark Lord had specifically told Snape the nineteenth, but didn't know how to ask the question without making Snape suspicious. "That's the plan I suggested," he said, sourly, after a moment. "Over Easter break when you—"

"I have made some refinements," said Snape.

"You took all the credit! The Death Mark on the Astronomy Tower was my idea! Transporting the others and—"

"And you were so eager to report to the Dark Lord," said Snape dryly. "Do not worry. Credit has been given where it is due. The Dark Lord realises that you fixed the Cabinet on your own and that you suggested the initial trap. Believe me, Draco, I am not an adolescent boy who jostles with others for the favour of our Master."

Draco wasn't ready to give up just yet. "Why didn't you tell me about this passageway?"

"You didn't ask," returned Snape.

"You—"

Snape turned and began to stride down the corridor.

Draco was angry enough to consider not following, but he wasn't sure he could open the wall the way Snape could.

"As it turns out," said Snape as they finally, after a long period of silence, neared the wall into the castle again, "we could not have used this passageway. The portraits in the Headmaster's office inform him of any and all passageways that they are aware of on his first day."

"Dumbledore knows this passage exi—"

"Of course," snapped Snape.

"Then—"

"The Order is understaffed; the Ministry can hardly spare Aurors, and Dumbledore does not want them knowing of these entrances. He is using magical enchantments instead," Snape said. "One or two wizards—especially one only half-trained as you—could hardly set them off. But nineteen Death Eaters?"

An exact number, nineteen, just as the nineteenth was. Draco shivered, suddenly, realising the importance of that. Perhaps it was he, Draco, who had been lied to. "There's going to be nineteen Death Eaters? I thought that it would be—" Draco stopped himself before he said anything more.

Snape was watching him. "Layers," he said, quietly, when it became clear Draco would say no more. "Layers upon layers of half-truths and lies. That is what it is to work with the Dark Lord."

"Then how I will know if—"

"You will not. Still, there are signs. Magical symbolism, history. Those, and experience. They are your only guides." Snape strode forward again.

And just like that Draco knew that it was Sna—no, not Snape—Severus who was being lied to. Snape had forgotten one way to tell, he thought: logic. Draco's was the earlier date; his would be the surprise for Severus.

"Do you think," he said, suddenly feeling better, "do you think you could stand guard outside the kitchens while I fetch some snacks for the party in the common room? I need to explain my absence."

Snape considered Draco, surprised, but nodded. "Yes."

.

* * *

It had been a long time since Hermione had been in the kitchens. The last time she came, the elves had all but ignored her and the bundle of clothes she had been clutching.

Her appearance was met with a stunned silence. Then the elves bustled away, seeming to think she might try to trick them into picking up clothes again.

They warmed, however, when Ginny climbed through the portrait after Hermione.

"Miss Ginny," squeaked a small elf, speeding up to greet Ginny. "How may Glee be of service?"

"Glee?" said Hermione.

"Cute, isn't she," said Ginny, nodding. "Glee, I'm going to need more of everything I just brought up to the common room. Sandwiches, treacle tarts, pumpkin pasties, and two jugs of pumpkin juice, please."

"Certainly, Miss Ginny." Glee bowed and sped off towards the back of the kitchen. The other elves had jumped to service, too.

Ginny pulled Hermione over to a table in the corner. "Bet you'd never seen this," she said happily, forcing Hermione to sit across from her. "Sometimes I think Dumbledore put this table here on purp—"

Hermione heard the squeak of the portrait door and had only time to Disillusion Ginny and scramble up against the wall before the door was opened and a blond—

It was Malfoy.

As if with a sixth instinct, Malfoy was suddenly looking straight at Hermione.

There was a long moment during which Hermione could hear Ginny breathing loudly beside her. It would be all right, Hermione thought. Malfoy was here alone, after all, so it wasn't like he could turn her into Snape or—

The portrait door suddenly opened again, and Hermione took this opportunity to Disillusion herself. She reached out with a hand to Ginny and they crept even farther away from the door.

Malfoy, who had turned to look at the hooded newcomer, turned back and examined the spot where Hermione had been.

"What are you bringing to the party?" the newcomer said. Hermione, hearing the voice, knew that it was Snape.

"Pumpkin pasties and treacle tart, I think," said Malfoy, still looking at the table and the deserted chairs.

Snape nodded. "An additional pumpkin pasty," he ordered the elf which was bowing at his feet. Looking around, he raised an eyebrow. "But, what's this? Sandwiches and pumpkin juice and—"

"I got a little extra. They'll have finished the first round by now."

The elves had by now finished with Ginny's order, and they wavered, trying to figure out to whom they should give the platter of sandwiches.

"Well, bring it here," said Malfoy impatiently. "Or better yet, send it to the Slytherin common room. I'll take the sweets, though."

Glee, with a glance straight at Hermione's new position, rushed forward, bowing. "Yes, sir," she cried. The plate of treacle tarts and pumpkin pasties was handed over. The other elves grasped the platter of sandwiches and the jugs of pumpkin juice, and disappeared with large cracks.

Snape picked one pasty out from the plate and strode out the portrait door. Malfoy turned to follow, but before he stepped through, he turned, and, looking at a space a few feet to Hermione's left, raised the treacle tart in his own hand with a smile.

The portrait door closed.

Ginny undid her Disillusionment, and then, pointing her wand at Hermione's hand, which she had been gripping, did the same for Hermione. She looked again at the door and then pointedly at Hermione.

"Well, then," she said.

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A/N: Unfortunately, I've once again used up my reserve of chapters, so it'll be a longer wait before the next update. Sorry for the bumpy reading experience. Singtoangels, my beta, gave me some wonderful advice on this chapter. Props to her! Hope that work/school/life etc are going well for everyone. Hit me up with PMs if you ever want to chat about dramione! -raa

Thank you to El, ZabuzasGirl, Dreamsb223 and mh21 for the reviews, and especially to mh21 and El for their continued encouragement. It really means a lot to me, and it makes my day every time.


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